


Out of the Abyss

by BritaniaVance



Series: The Dark Wars [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic (Comic), Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon - Tie-in Novel, Dark, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, Mystery, Novel, Novelization, Original Character(s), Romance, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-20
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-02 11:53:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 71,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5247302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BritaniaVance/pseuds/BritaniaVance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years in exile, ex-Jedi General, Eden Valen continues to clean up after Revan and Malak's mess of a war, only to find herself forever cursed with their unfinished business. As an ill-fated lead brings her to Tatooine, Eden finds that Revan's mysterious plans go beyond the Republic, beyond the Outer Rim, and into the utter unknown. (A novelization of The Sith Lords and beyond)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Flashes Before Your Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After defeating her once-close friend, Malak, Revan wrangles her former and current selves to the best of her abilities - but despite any wishes she has for a normal life, she knows she has some unfinished business to attend to. The only problem is that she doesn't know where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are at my attempt to post (semi-regularly) the novelization of my personally reconciled TSL plot to be published in three parts: Out of the Abyss, Shadows of the Sith, and The Immortal Empire. As you can see, I've played around with the fabric of the Old Republic world in order to bolster the plot, to support unfinished aspects of the game's initial trajectory, and to make up for the unsatisfying ending that the "official" Revan book and related DLC left with some of us fans. I've edited some of the earlier chapters for consistency, but there are bound to be mistakes here and there, I'm sure, so feel free to drop me a line!
> 
> Since it is only fitting to begin a Star Wars tale on a remote desert planet, here we are. Enjoy :)

3964 BBY, Tatooine

_8 years before the events of Knights of the Old Republic_

 

The earth shuddered beneath her and it roared with a deafening cry in her ears, but Revan was mute to it all.

She stood still, her hands taut at her temples, focusing her mind’s eye on images that flashed before her consciousness as the world around her began to crumble. Her physical self, now distant and almost unfeeling, wavered under the concerned weight of a familiar hand - _Alek_ \- pleading with her to move, to save herself.

But the Force coursed through her, flashing images before her eager eyes almost too quickly for her to comprehend, but urgent enough to block out the world around her which was fast falling into chaos. _A father and child descended into the caverns beneath the sands where she stood, standing before an altar not seen for millennia where an ancient crystal cache called to passersby, like a whisper of sand in the wind, beckoning, waiting, repeating its call – untouched and pristine – shrouded with some sweet, dark sorcery that drew them nearer… but then entered two bright figures, swathed in light and angel-esque, who took the child by the hand, eyeing the altar with wary eyes as they left the father to die, fallen victim to a poisoned mind, like so many others before him. Boots crunch over their bones._

“Revan, _please,”_ Alek’s voice found her from a million miles away, pleading. Revan’s eyes shot open, all movement a mere kaleidoscope of images focusing into one as her mind reconciled the vision still clear in her memory. She inhaled, closing her eyes tight once more, stamping the images on the backs of her eyelids as reminders before they trickled away with forgetting. When she opened her eyes, her saber was at the ready and Alek was at her side.

She hazarded a glance at her partner, all wide eyes and raised eyebrows. His icy blue stare implored her, asking without words if she was alright.

Revan nodded, remembering the small child and the darkness she found with her father just beneath the sand they stood on.

Revan charged, vowing to never forget what she saw. It was unlike the vision she had during the decimation of Cathar, it was unlike what she felt when she and Alek found the ancient Star Maps, and yet somehow it factored into all of this. A bookmarked memory, to investigate at a later date. As she opened her eyes to the scene unfolding before her, she opened herself to the Force, still unaware of just how much of herself she would hand over to it in the name of peace and justice in the end.

 

 

* * *

 

3955 BBY, Telos IV

_One year after Revan saved the Republic_

“You can’t remember anything else?”

“Nothing,” Nevarra sighed. With her eyes still shut, she held onto tethers of images, ghosts of a memory. A girl touting the name _Revan_ and her father, nameless and without shape, stood as entities before an ancient altar all those years ago in some forsaken cave buried in the desert. Ghosts from a past life she was not entirely sure was her own. They felt like memories, but were they implanted or otherwise? She had no answers.

She had been piecing herself together since the encounter with Malak on the  _Leviathan_ , picking and choosing which bits of her old and new selves felt right and which parts deserved to stay. In the aftermath, Carth was the calm and steady force that stayed her, but she knew there was much she still could not remember - much that she  _needed_ to remember. The anxiety was crippling. She was a ghost in her own living skin, and she feared what her old self may have kept from those close to her, never expecting that her own memories, her own agency, would ever be ripped away from her. 

Carth insisted on staying up with her most nights, helping her figure out which memories were hers and where they belonged, but most importantly he supported her in deciding which memories were worth keeping. Since her Jedi reconditioning, Nevarra was tempted to settle into the false security of this second chance, to start over and settle down. But that was a fleeting thing. No, she could not stay idle - how could she? Not when she knew just how much was at stake. But the key to figuring out what to do next remained hidden in the murky depths of her own memory, phantom trinkets submerged and disguised, awaiting her conscious hand at the bottom of a fathomless ocean to be unearthed and rediscovered, plucked from obscurity and made real again.

From the darkness of her closed lids, the Force held still in her memory, Nevarra felt the gentle probing of Carth’s comforting hands at her wrists, coaxing her into the comfort of his presence - away from who she used to be, away from _Revan_. A faint smile spread across her lips at the feel of him, bringing herself out of the memory, making sure to anchor its imprint in her mind for future reference.

“It’s alright if you can’t. Just remember that,” Carth told her, his voice even, though still laced with the tempered frustration of a man lacking sleep. She could see it in his face: eyes lined with dark indigo shadows, blinking every few moments to keep himself from drifting off himself. But she knew he wouldn’t, not when she still found sleep so seldom. He would not abandon his post.

Her hands began to react to the warmth of his touch as Carth kneaded her fingers, tingling, as if they had been sleeping prior to Carth’s innocent probing.

“I think I should be the one telling you that,” she sighed, hearing the tiredness in her own voice.  Even to herself her voice felt hollow, strained and in much need of sleep. “I’ve kept you up long enough.”

Carth resigned, looking proud of her, at least, but feigning to completely mask his relief at being formally allowed to rest. “You’ve made progress,” he said as optimistically as his voice would allow, grating low and soft into a slight yawn, “or at least, it sounds like you have.”

Nevarra laughed silently to herself, chuckling at Carth’s inability to sleep when she could not and at his need to hear her say it before he went back to rest without her. He didn’t have to stay up with her, he knew that and she reminded him, but she never pushed it. She still enjoyed how eager he was to take care of her in any small way, despite her not needing saving. He liked feeling useful, he wanted to help, and even if she said and felt that it was fine that he sleep, she knew he would never rest easy until he felt he had done his part.

Carth still hovered on the threshold to their shared bedroom, lingering between the soft light of their living area and the dense shadow of their unlit chambers. His heavy-lidded eyes watched her, waiting. She felt weighted to the chair she sat in, sunken as if her thoughts anchored her here, but Carth was always so convincing when he was most tired, most unwilling to fight and most likely to surrender to sleep like an overeager puppy who denies he has worn himself out.

The image of a girl and her father at the site of the ancient altar remained in the back of her mind. The weight of it lifted as she gathered her wits to switch gears, to turn her mind to slumber, to rest for but a moment until she would undoubtedly set course for Coruscant to see the one person who may know more about her visions come morning… whether Carth was awake to tell her how he felt about the whole thing, or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably end up using the end notes to discuss my decision-making and to bring up other points of discussion regarding this project as well as TSL in general. As much as this project is meant to act as writing practice for me, it is also a look into the fabric of this particular Star Wars story, it's characters, the state of the world, and where the hidden Sith Empire fits into all of this. Drew Karpyshyn's book introduces the idea of Revan and Malak finding this empire (and then Revan returning to finish what he started) and training under the Sith Emperor. It's executed a bit strangely, in my opinion, and I'm not sure if I want to really blame the author so much as whoever else is in charge of the Star Wars EU and decided that the Sith would be so prominent in the MMO very much after-the-fact, which makes the whole thing seem like too much of an afterthought. Because what would Star Wars be without a devout Order and an evil Empire, right? So while all this Tatooine stuff may seem out of place, especially since it makes no appearance in TSL, this was my way of beginning a plot thread that will weave it's way into the main plot (and restored cut content) of The Sith Lords and make the Lost Sith Empire story line much more believable in the long run... I hope. Of course, this is still my own interpretation of events and information, these are my iterations of the characters, and obviously a few of my OC's are peppered throughout as well. Any thoughts, comments, or any other points of discussion are more than welcome, and I encourage them as well :) 
> 
> That is, if anyone even reads this, anyway...


	2. Many Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carth knew that Revan might leave to finish what she started, whatever that happened to be, but worry has brought him to the covert doorstep of the Jedi after six months of waiting without any answers to calm his fears. The ever-poised Bastila Shan seems stern as always upon greeting him, but Carth discovers that she may be just as worried as he is, and that the Force may have something more sinister in store for them all.

3954 BBY, Coruscant  
_a year and a half since Revan saved the Republic  
__six months since she was last seen_

  
The weight of Carth Onasi’s boots pounded the loading ramp of his personal vessel, having just landed on Coruscant, demanding answers and already annoyed that he wasn’t met with any.

With a datapad clutched in a white-knuckled fist, he leapt the distance between the still-descending ramp and the landing dock. Blood thrummed beneath his skin, setting him aflame with his uncontrollable impatience.

Before he could question the droid waiting idly at the security console, a shrill voice met his ears, and despite the dissonance its presence instantly set him at ease.

“Now, Carth-?” Bastila approached the loading ramp, evident that she had been waiting since Carth had made his request for landing clearance, her arms folding across a canvas of brown cloth that shielded her from the nonexistent cold as she demeaned his choice of arrival with a scowl.  
  
Carth brandished the datapad in his hand, half-expecting it to speak for itself.  Trying his best to ignore Bastila’s smug righteousness, his thoughts found their voice before she could even finish her sentence, “We’ve waited long enough, now where is she?”  
  
There was no time for pleasantries. He spoke each word evenly and still they sounded desperate when they finally took to the open air.  
  
Admittedly, he was not at his best. Having lost sleep for near six months in an empty bed filled only with worry and wanting, Carth was sure that Bastila searched his sunken eyes, sleepless, wondering what had taken him so long. She sighed. She knew he was not cross with her, but with the situation that they were equally entangled in, paths crossed in a promise they both made long ago. Revan had never disclosed with him who else might have known, but it would only make sense if the others knew, if  _Bastila_  knew, and that was why he was standing before her now.  
  
“Come with me,” was all that she said, sweeping about and leading him across the landing pad before he could utter another word.  
  
By her stance, he could tell Bastila knew this moment would come to fruition, and she was already prepared - though despite the dire circumstances it was difficult to imagine a scenario in which Bastila was  _not_  prepared. She met every moment with unwavering surety, no matter her doubts, regardless of training or lack thereof. She waved a hand at the lift command console that greeted her upon entering the elevation pod, its doors shutting swiftly once Carth entered at her side.

The lift began its descent, though the unquestionable darkness that followed may have suggested that time had frozen still. Maybe it was the anticipation, the desire for answers that made the galaxy spin slowly in the time he had waited. Carth felt the lift dive below the pier, far beyond Coruscant street level, and head toward what he was certain was the center of the planet itself.

In spite of his general dislike of the woman beside him, he trusted her enough to know that she had not sent them plummeting to almost certain doom at the planet’s core, and in fact, knew exactly what she was doing. At a seemingly insignificant point in their journey downward, Bastila flourished her hand over the console, bringing the lift to a complete and utter stop. There was no repercussion, in fact it felt as if they glided to a gentle halt instead of abruptly arriving as Carth had anticipated. Upon stopping, the doors opened. Light poured in from an empty hall through which Bastila began to navigate without hesitation, easing in and out of identical paths without a second glance. Carth did his best to keep up, his datapad in hand, head flashing about in some petty attempt to keep track of where in the Force she was taking him. Before his queries found a voice, Bastila opened one final door, this time opening into a small meeting room encased in glass, surrounded by sprawling floors full of adolescents in Jedi’s training robes.  
  
A vision come to life – something she said long ago came back to him from the depths of his memory, instantly dredged up at the sight –  _A secret Jedi academy, to rebuild, to strengthen their numbers, at least while the Sith threat still looms on the horizon, as it always has._  
  
A threat on the horizon. The datapad in his hand.  
  
Bastila took a seat at one of the long chaise lounges situated about the room, and Carth suddenly took in the room’s portents: two lounges sat situated along the farther walls, separated at the corner only by a plant whose origin he knew nothing of, and along the wall adjacent was a console, sitting idle and humming softly.  
  
“You knew I would come,” Carth found himself realizing the truth of this words as he spoke them. “ _Today._ ”

His fearful rage dissipated into growing uncertainty as he took a seat opposite Bastila.  
  
“I felt something in the Force.” She replied curtly, sounding almost as if she were making up some excuse, and one that a non-sensitive could not possibly verify – but the wavering of her expression gave it away. Bastila was never keen on  _not_  knowing things so her curtness was due to the unfavorable nature of being taken by surprise.  
  
“So you asked why I was here, even though you knew full well, because…?” he drawled on, begging her to finish the sentence, if not just to annoy her… for old time’s sake.  
  
Bastila clicked her tongue impatiently, offended, and scoffed “I didn’t want to be  _presumptuous_.”  
  
She tucked a loose lock of sand-brown hair behind a pale ear as her other hand waved in the void of the air, commanding the Force to control the console on the other end of the room. “The Force works in mysterious ways. Besides, it's not like you presented yourself any better,” she added to save face.  
  
Before Carth could retort, the room’s lights dimmed to accommodate the console whose screen projected before them, and sight of the secret Jedi academy beyond fell away. A series of numbers filled the active page, a pale blue against a dark transparent grey, cascading down the wall until it stopped, becoming still.  
  
Carth squinted. It only took him a moment to realize, “These are coordinates.”  
  
“Precisely.”

Concern crept into Bastila’s voice, consuming what outward demeanor she usually donned to mask whatever inward feelings plagued her. The thought of her mask slipping undoubtedly rattled her nerves, but for Carth it was comforting to see. He preferred moments when she allowed herself to be human, as long as those moments did not involve berating him for something.  
  
“You know I was the last to see her,” Bastila began, Carth watching as her long fingers folded and unfurled, falling in and over themselves with each moment she spent thinking of her next words, “And though I know little of where she went, or why, these are her final coordinates.”  
  
“You-?”  
  
“I asked T3 to keep a detail on her whereabouts-“  
  
“You managed to bypass T3’s security coding? But she had him set to-“  
  
“I did not do anything intentionally. You see, when Revan set off, I merely told T3 to ‘ _keep an eye on her’_  as a turn of phrase, but then I began receiving these,” her hand gestured toward the screen, “I was not sure what they were until near the end. I figured it might have been a virus or some sort of glitch, given our new systems, but once I looked into the final batch of numbers I knew exactly what they were.”

Several images propped up on screen at a subtle flick of Bastila’s fingers. They depicted various locales, mostly, each remote and empty. There was one image, however, of a place he recognized from a time when he and the woman across from him once traveled the galaxy together despite their bitter differences in hopes of saving it from their amnesiac companion.

“I’m not so sure about the rest, but  _that_ ,” Carth pointed to the image of a gate flanked by blood orange tents on the brink of a desert, “That’s Anchorhead.”

Carth saw Bastila nod in affirmation from his peripheral as he leaned forward to get a closer look at the images on the screen.

“As you know, Revan and Malak had been to Anchorhead sometime during the war to find the star maps that led to the-“

“So what would bring her back?” Carth interrupted, too impatient to hear Bastila voice her predictions. He already knew what she was thinking.

“I  _would_  have thought the same thing, unless she told you about what brought her to me in the first place.”

Bastila folded her hands in her lap once more as Carth turned to face her, her features aglow in the light of the screen.

“Her dream?”

Bastila nodded again. She did not seem one for words once they had arrived at what Carth presumed was her office, and her tells were showing more and more with each question. The fact that Revan’s disappearance and subsequent silence bothered her this much to forego her usual uppity bit set his bones at ease, slightly at least. 

“Revan  _felt_  as if she were on Tatooine, at an ancient Sith site of some sort. She came to me asking whether this particular memory had anything to do with what the Jedi implanted, since Darth Malak was nowhere to be found in this recollection and it had nothing to do with the Star Map there, but we had done no such thing. The Jedi - meaning Dorak, Vrook and the others - only implanted generic, bland memories, basic images of parents, being young and what-have-you, but nothing so specific. With, erm, Malak being dead,” Bastila had a bit of a visibly hard time enunciating Malak’s name without disdain, though Carth could not blame her despite knowing the man he once thought the Jedi Knight to be himself, “Revan was not entirely sure who to consult about this particular memory, about what it might mean.”

Bastila swallowed, waiting a moment to allow Carth to answer, perhaps, but he remained silent as he awaited her next words, “Save for her first, and last, master.”

Carth cocked his head, not out of complete confusion but instead out of willful clarification. After defeating her old friend and apprentice, Revan had spent her time with Carth recreating a new persona, leaving any old selves behind, so talk of her life before was seldom and rarely discussed at length.

“Master Arren Kae.” Bastila answered for him, almost expectantly.

The name was not unfamiliar, though he internally admitted to himself that he may have done well to pay better attention to Revan when she  _did_  talk of the past.

“My guess is,” Bastila began, cycling through the images displayed with a flick of her wrist, “that wherever these coordinates are located, which according to Republic navigation records are somewhere either on the Outer Rim or just on the border of the Unknown Regions, is where she believed she might find Kae, and perhaps found her at some point.”  
  
“Or so we can hope,” Carth nursed his stubbled chin with his fingers, fingers that itched to be anything other than idle. His boot tapped mutely on the carpeted floor of Bastila’s chamber as his eyes flicked between the images on screen. “When was the last coordinate sent?”  
  
“This morning,” Bastila sighed, getting up and wrapping her robes about her again, equally unsure of what to do with her idle limbs, “which is why I thought you might come. But I didn’t get these numbers in batches or one by one, quite the opposite actually. They were sent all at once, and they were jumbled. Almost as if they were sent in a hurry, like an afterthought.”

Bastila’s voice was controlled but Carth could hear the fear behind her every syllable. His blood ran with anxious electricity under his skin at the thought that even Bastila could not contain her worry.

“That’s not like her,” Carth voiced, the thought escaping his lips as easily as a breath. “So you think T3 sent these? As a warning of some kind? Honoring your request, maybe?" Bastila nodded. "And there’s no way to locate where the message was sent from?”

Bastila shook her head. Carth knew she would have checked the signal before looking into anything else, but he felt is chest near bursting with questions and he knew not to expect any satisfying answers to quell them just yet.

“Not quite. I checked first thing, of course,” Bastila huffed, and Carth almost smiled inwardly at his intuition but the sentiment turned more into a bitter laugh at the direness of it all. “Revan was hiding her tracks, and given her affinity for the skill so much so that she,  _quite effectively,_ hid secrets from  _herself_  I’m not sure how to decode this, but-”

Carth had been so lost in thought and focused on controlling the sense of defeat that began to blanket his spirit with the lack of any real answers that he hadn’t noticed that Bastila was physically typing away at the console again, foregoing the Force for something more tactile to voice her frustrations through the heavy pounding of keys.

“Either Revan has completely hacked the Hawk so it spits out some nonsense location of origin when you track the incoming messages so we cannot follow her, that  _or-_ ” Carth stood up as the screen dissolved into a map of the Republic and the known galaxy surrounding it. A small, blinking light, ominous in its loneness in an empty patch of screen, emanated from the blackness that enveloped the outer portions of the map.

“The Unknown Regions.”

Bastila turned from the console to look at Carth and nodded with wide, grey eyes glowing vaguely in the light of the screen, a miniature galaxy swimming in her mirrored pupils.

“I was considering calling you myself, but then I received your message requesting landing permission. I was _hoping_ -” Bastila sighed again, unable to feign much confidence, “I was hoping you’d come with news. When you asked me where she was, I knew this was, I don’t know,  _fated_  perhaps. Something that the Force intended for us to find... and to follow.”

Carth would have very much liked to scoff at her explanation, but as much as it might have soothed the tension mounting in his chest, he knew she was speaking the truth. Bastila would not betray her features to doubt unless it was all-consuming, unless it was sincere.

“What does the Force  _want_  exactly? For us to know that she’s missing? What good does that do us-?“

Before he could continue his tirade of complaints, Bastila extended a gentle hand to steady him, her eyes still wide and full of uncontrolled uncertainty, but there was something about her expression that was also  _certain_  as well, though Carth could not quite understand why or how he knew it. The hair on his arm prickled at the thought and he pulled away.

Bastila’s hand remained extended in comfort, almost as if she expected him to react this way.

“This is the beginning of something. Whatever Revan’s memory entailed, whatever the exiled Kae had to tell her, and wherever she is now… I don’t know, it’s somehow connected to this,” Bastila’s arms extended to her sides, indicating the secret academy now hidden from her office, “And there’s one other thing.”

This last bit Bastila exclaimed almost erratically, suddenly remembering something, as she resumed her position at the console. Carth took a deep breath and watched with a furrowed brow as he approached to watch over her shoulder, briefly glancing down at her nimble fingers before looking up again at the screen as the images changed. The photos of the coordinates Bastila managed to trace faded away. A rap sheet took its place, detailing the basic information for a certain Nevarra Draal. This Nevarra shared the same false name and looked an awful lot like the woman Carth was first stranded with on Taris, the woman he roamed the galaxy alongside in search of a Sith Lord's trail that actually ended up being her own. As much as the woman looked like Revan, however, Carth could tell that she was slightly younger, that her eyes were more angular and that they were green as opposed to Revan’s warm brown. They were not one and the same.

“This is the identification papers we used to get Revan into the Republic ranks after we, erm, well-“ Bastila swallowed her words before continuing, “The records are actually quite legitimate looking, though also falsified. It was produced for us by Atris who found that Revan’s exiled General bore a striking resemblance to her, especially when done up in this fashion.” Bastila referred to the short black hair dyed bronze and the ochre eye makeup. “Revan’s Left Hand, General Valen was exiled, I’m not sure if you know, a short time after the Mandalorian Wars came to a close. Master Atris, General Valen’s former mentor, took up the task of keeping tabs on her, given that she was a liability to the Council as well as to the Republic after what happened at Malachor. In her exile, General Valen made several false personas to use as identification and Master Atris convinced us to use this abandoned file as a source.”

Carth took in the image of the General, a girl he had heard much about but had never seen. As a pilot, Carth had seen much of Malak, especially before the Jedi officially became involved in the Mandalorian Wars when the Jedi Knight still went by the nickname Squint - which was both amusing and disconcerting to think back on, now - but Carth had never seen General Valen, who was responsible for heading Revan’s ground troops. She was a prodigy, a star soldier, surpassing legends of even the famed Jedi Master Kavar at only twenty years old. Carth recalled a time when everyone expected Kavar to lead the Jedi to war, but after being called to a seat on the Jedi Council instead, the enigmatic young Revan took his place. Soon after, General Valen joined Revan's ranks and became the leader of her ground forces, whereas Revan’s Right Hand, Malak, took the command of her fast-growing star fleet.

The exiled Jedi looked so much like his Revan that he could not look away, though he saw where they differed when he imagined what Nevarra looked like now, or more recently at least. Even back when Carth had first met her, Revan posing as Nevarra was visibly a bit older, in her mid-thirties as opposed to her mid-twenties, and looked a bit friendlier in comparison to the image displayed.

“When Revan asked where her memories had come from, she asked about the false ID we gave her when we,” Bastila swallowed, still slightly uncomfortable with her role in altering Revan’s memories, “When the  _Jedi_  reprogrammed her. When she saw that we had used _her_ identification records, she, well, I’m not sure, exactly.”

Bastila’s voice trailed off into silent musing, not quite finishing her thought.

“She felt something?” Carth surmised, gathering what he knew of Bastila’s account and what little he knew of how Jedi and how they reacted to the Force, something which still eluded him completely.

Bastila nodded, her lips pursed, unsure of what else to add. She was so used to having the last word that Carth almost enjoyed watching her struggle with the silence that followed.

“I am not sure what she felt, or sensed,” Bastila finally said after a considerable pause, “But whatever it was, she felt as if Master Kae might know. And who knows, perhaps she sought General Eden Valen out as well, after all.”

“Where is Arren Kae now?” Carth asked.

The Jedi shook her head. “No one knows. She was exiled shortly after Valen was. She was even accused of influencing Revan’s dissent through her teachings, for not seeing what would later become of her pupil. Unlike Eden Valen, however, Kae fell under the radar. No one has heard of, or from, her since.”

“So that’s where you think all of these other images are from? Places where Revan thought Kae might have been hiding.”

Bastila nodded.

“What about General Valen?”

With another heavy sigh, Bastila lowered her head, looking away from the screen and at her hands instead. “Master Atris had been keeping tabs on her, but with the tragedy at Katarr…”

“Right, I’m sorry.” Carth consoled as best he could, already guilty that he had forgotten, that he had failed to commit every Jedi’s name to memory since learning who Nevarra really was, who _Revan_  really was. Even still, he should have realized. In Nevarra's attempt to recover her memories as Revan, she had urged them both to keep rebuilding, for she feared the true storm had not yet come to pass. In the wake of the war, Carth was to continue supporting stable governments and weeding out the weaker systems, and Bastila was to bolster the Jedi ranks in whatever way she could, in secret if possible. Another massacre had urged some Jedi to begin preparing for such destruction in secret, sometime during or before the war, Carth could not remember. But whatever those plans were, Nevarra thought them wise. There was so much fear in her eyes before she left, and despite the waking worry that still kept Carth awake at night, he knew that Nevarra would tell him what troubled her if she knew, and understood her desire to find the truth of that fear alone. She still felt immense amounts of guilt over what she had done, but more importantly, what she had forgotten. If only Malak had listened, if only he had submitted and told her what he had known back then...

“She’s still out there, I feel,” Bastila began, closing her eyes as if it would better her memory, “we were almost rivals, you know, the exile and I. Prodigal padawans, each with a gift. She had her Force bonds and I had my battle meditation. I still think that she might not have been driven to war had the Masters not feared her power so, but…” Bastila let out a low breath, laced with regret and remembering, “We were friends, once.”

She shook her head and opened her eyes again, this time looking pointedly at Carth.

“I know you’re not one to believe in the Force, but I know you believe in her.”

At the mention of ‘ _her’,_  Carth knew she meant Revan, even if in their more private moments she had expressed her desire to be known as Nevarra now, instead.

Carth nodded solemnly, still feeling far too unaware of it all, oddly unnerved at the fact that Bastila, a woman nearly two decades younger than he, would have a better idea of where his wife might be, and not just for the sake of being there but in the scheme of things, whatever that meant. He shook his head, and despite his doubts he knew that he trusted Revan, that he trusted Nevarra, far more than he trusted himself with anything the galaxy could throw at him, but he would counter each blow as it came, as long as it got him closer to  _her,_ no matter who she felt more like these days. He was ready for anything, anything other than the inaction that had plagued him since the day she left.

Gathering his resolve, Carth swallowed whatever doubts and frustrations had led him here and asked, “So, what comes next?”

Nevarra has asked him to remain calm, to trust him no matter what became of her, and regardless of the promise that both he and Bastila had made not to follow her, it was clear that neither of them were meant for inaction or idleness. But it wasn’t just the foul feeling of being left in the dark with only blind trust for company that bothered him, it was an ever-pervasive  _bad feeling_  that gnawed at the outer edges of his mind, the same gut feeling he saw possessing Bastila now.

Despite their differences, they had this in common, at least.

Bastila read his expression, and nodded curtly, as if gathering all of the wandering thoughts in his mind and processing them in an instant. His observation was not far off, despite how much he lamented the fact, knowing that Bastila most likely probed the Force whether she meant to or not. In spite of decorum, he figured she may not be able to help herself given how palpable his raw emotions were stirring beneath the surface, something Nevarra used to make fun of him for…

“We find her.” Bastila said. “Well, not  _her_  her, but,” she nodded towards the screen which now displayed General Eden Valen’s somewhat disguised visage, Revan’s near twin if one did not know any better.

“The last we heard of her according to Atris’ records, she was working as a scavenger, particularly interested in post-war sites as you might well imagine. We don’t have a heading, but-“

“We have Anchorhead. It’s something.  _H_ _ell_ , it’s better than nothing,” Carth heard himself say, though even his own voice sounded alien, as if it were transmitting itself to him from light-years away. Entranced with the image on screen, he conjured memories of Revan when he only knew her as Nevarra, a smart-mouthed recruit that just happened to escape the Endar Spire at his side. Part of him wished that things had stayed that simple.

Whatever ill omens Carth had collected over the past few months now seemed oddly intentional and somewhat justified in light of Bastila’s shared convictions. The bad feeling that took root in his gut the moment Revan left spread outward and over his bones, settling in the depths of him. He wondered if this is what Bastila felt when she sensed ‘disturbances’ in the Force or what had Revan felt that night and prompted her to leave in the first place. 

“We’ll find her. We have to.”

Bastila’s eyes locked with his and after a moment she nodded, her face solemn but intent. Perhaps she felt sorry for him, and maybe there was good reason for it. Carth couldn’t sleep, but it wasn’t the lack of rest that bothered him. Whatever Bastila felt, whatever she knew, and whatever the Force told her, Carth could read it on her face – there was hope, and that was something.


	3. Further Instructions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On record, the Polar Regions of Telos are desolate and void of life. When life is found upon one of its more remote mountain peaks, some of the few who call this place home must bring the stranger to their Mistress for questioning, only to have the tables turn on her completely.

3952 BBY, The Polar Regions of Telos  
 _Four years since Revan saved the Republic, two since she went missing_

 

The mountain was cold.

Brianna expected nothing different, but it did not quell her unease upon its slopes. She followed in the footsteps of her sisters, who were blindly carrying out orders given by their mistress, Atris, earlier that morning.

 _I sense a presence on the mountain_ , she had said, eyes closed in concentration. _Scout the area, bring back anyone you find._

She found her mistress’s words worthy of note. _Anyone_ she had said, not any _thing_. 

Atris had then resumed cradling her aching temples, brimming with visions, stooped over her chamber desk as Brianna and her sisters nodded and went on their way, Brianna in the rear as always.

She was otherwise known as the Last of the Handmaidens, last meaning the _least_ of them, a fact her sisters reminded her of constantly. She deserved no name, not even the one she used to refer to herself in more intimate moments. Only her title was warranted, technically. In a way, Brianna lamented her Echani father’s demise, and not for its untimely nature but for the fact that she would carry the burden of his actions until her dying breath. She would always be Brianna the Bastard _. The Last of the Handmaidens._

 _A most unfavorable heirloom, indeed_.

The bitter winds, the thick snowfall, and the harsh temperatures were unrelenting, and yet a part of Brianna felt right at home. Out here, she was met with just as much resistance as she would have had she stayed at the academy, and yet she found the wordless wind favorable to her sisters’ insistent discontent. The fact that it drowned out anything they might say helped.

The wind tasted crisp on her tongue though cruel to her lips, rubbing them raw, and yet Brianna had never felt more alive, never more herself than out in a world that was not so controlled, so demanding, so _defeating_. Brianna bit her lip, quelling the secret smile she bore behind her sister’s backs, unaware that any joy could be had in the life of a bastard.

Ahead of her was nothing but a sheet of snow, yet Brianna could somehow sense her sisters up ahead, like walking through a familiar hall in the dark, navigating from memory. She finally came upon them, stoic spires in the spiraling snow, their ivory hoods drawn over their heads as their necks pivoted, discerning their choice of direction with careful eyes.

“Where to?” Arianna asked, her voice a telltale singsong hardly a whisper on the wintry air.

Orenna only shrugged.

By default, Brianna stopped just before reaching them, never used to standing equal among her sisters, always to be an afterthought.

She looked about, holding up an white-gloved hand as a visor to block out the snow but to no avail, until… the snow stopped completely.

Her hand dropped to her side in surprise, and she looked between her sisters to gauge their reaction but they were as still as statues. The wind fell silent. It no longer rang in her expectant ears and instead stood stagnant, cold against her face. She exhaled. A plume of warm breath should have erupted from her lips, and yet the scene remained unchanged.

Words lingered on her tongue but shock stayed her. Her mouth opened and closed, a firaxa out of water. Then she felt it, or  _sensed_ it, more rather.

Just beyond the sheet of snow ahead of Arianna and Orenna the mountain sloped downward, and below the slope was an embankment where a figure lay motionless but still breathing - shallow breaths, dangerously shallow. Brianna could not see it, but she knew what was there.

She blinked, unbelieving, when the scene unfolded again before her, as if she had unpaused a holorecording and life resumed in real-time as always.

“We should head North,” Orenna demanded, her voice low and even, her age always evident in the way she carried herself. The snow resumed falling, as if it had never stopped, and the wind howled about them once more. Neither of her sisters made note of the change.

Arianna considered her sister’s command when Brianna heard herself say, “They're right there, just below us.”

She could hardly register her own voice, and her sisters both turned to consider her for the first time that day. They had not even bothered looking at her when the Mistress had personally called the three of them down to her chambers that morning, only exchanging glances with one another as if Brianna were not there.

They were forced to acknowledge their sister’s presence and heed her advice. Brianna almost expected that they would dismiss her proclamation, but the way Arianna and Orenna looked at one another told her different. _Did they feel it, too?_

The two sisters nodded without a word and descended into the nothingness of the snow.

For a moment, the figures of her sisters melted into the stark white backdrop of the scenery, almost as if the sky had swallowed them whole, mountain and all.

The scene did not speak to her this time, and the elements shielded her from whatever vision manifested in her mind moments before. Staggering in the snow, she searched for purchase, hoping that the feeling would return, but she was moving blindly now. 

Brianna finally came upon Arianna and Orenna again, only this time they were moving towards her, huddled together, burdened by a figure clad in brown. The Last Handmaiden offered her hands in help, but her sisters ignored her and moved on without her assistance. She swore she saw Orenna shake her head, unsurprised that she could not keep up.

With her hands falling at her sides, Brianna followed her silent sisters, brimming with regret as she trekked back up the mountain to her uncertain refuge. Something in her stomach turned, and she knew it was not because of Orenna. Though her sisters denied her aid, her hands felt relief at the lack of weight in them as she ascended, and not for the ease of the return. _No_. Something about the figure Arianna and Orenna held between them did not sit well with her. _Where did they come from? Why are they here? Did they know_ we _would be here?_

Part of her felt bad for not helping, knowing that this might come up again later as some other admonition added to a laundry list of faults her sisters harped on whenever they pleased. But another part of her knew that this was not over, that this meant more. Her skin prickled, and it was not with cold, but with the realization that this was bigger than she could possibly know. She did not know how, and that bothered her all the more.

 

* * *

 

Orenna and Arianna laid the figure to rest on the pristine seating area in Atris’ study.  The brown mass was a shocking contrast against the pale upholstery. Even the rough-hewn texture of the stranger's fabric clashed with the soft satin of Atris’ lounge.

 “Where did you find her?” Atris asked, hardly inflecting a question. Her voice was a husk whisper, echoing in the empty space between them.

“Just beneath the second pass, Mistress, about two hundred meters down,” Arianna answered, Orenna nodding in affirmation. Brianna found herself nodding as well, though Atris’ eyes never left the figure lying before her.

“Did she say anything?”

_She?_

“They… _she_ didn’t say anything at all, Mistress.” Orenna replied. Both of her sisters’ eyes were fixed on Atris, though Brianna found her gaze inexplicably drawn to the figure on the bed. Her breathing was low, shallow, and suddenly belonging to that of a person and not just a lump of rough, russet robes.

The feeling in her gut grew, gaining a mass that was empty and uncertain, and somehow the mysterious stranger both roused and calmed it. Her skin grew cold beneath her many layers, and her gloved hands reached up to wrap around herself despite the lack of winter wind in the academy’s many halls.

Atris had not yet offered a reply. With careful fingers, she raised the figure’s hood, only to let the fabric drop before revealing the stranger’s face to the Echani watching on with eager eyes.

“Thank you,” Atris said, her voice barely audible, “Leave me. You have done well.”

Atris’ gaze remained just above the dozing head of the stranger as Brianna filed out of the room behind her sisters, as if awaiting their leave to reveal the stranger’s face. _Why?_

Brianna hesitated; eager to see what face lay beneath the hood. She and her sisters had traveled to remote corners of the galaxy searching for the artifacts that cluttered Atris’ secret academy, but she doubted she would remember anyone they may have come upon. Mistress always warned them to stay hidden, never to speak, and to keep to themselves. Despite the unspoken fear that welled within her at the stranger’s presence, her unexplained insecurity, she moved on and followed her sisters’ retreating backs with a heavy pace.

The figure in the adjoining room did not sit well with her. Her presence troubled some inner part of consciousness that she could not reconcile. Whatever it was, it tugged at her like an invisible string, as if that woman’s face would somehow mean something to her.

And yet the only face Brianna could fathom was the imagined visage of her bastard mother’s, the one that resembled her own and resembled none of her sisters. But her mother had perished at Malachor, like so many others. And the Last Handmaiden did not believe in ghosts.

 

* * *

 

“No one wanders the mountain,” Atris heard herself say in a severe tone that echoed through her study the moment the woman on the lounge stirred. Atris’ mind raced with questions yet none of them arrived at her lips, eager only to leap to anger, to disbelief.

The woman only smiled. It was a wry smile that set Atris’ skin on ice, prickled with the enduring sense that she could not control the visibly weak woman before her.

_Or perhaps not as weak as you would like me to believe…_

“They say you died at Katarr.”

The stranger spoke through her smile, retaining its eerie shape beneath the shadow of her drawn hood as if her mouth were a crescent moon hanging in the blackness of night. Despite the state the Handmaidens found her in, the woman was not disoriented, not at all near death, and she looked as if she knew exactly where she was.

“ _They?_ ” Atris spat, again unable to conjure a question, instead only capable of repeating words like a helpless creature, tamed to entertain guests. Her fingers itched to reach for the woman’s hood once more, to reveal her cheap parlor tricks. She had peeled back her hood to reveal only nothingness, somehow, as if the Force had erased what she saw the moment she saw it. Now, the Force was silent; it only relayed radio silence when Atris tried to pry at the stranger’s mind.

“Those who remain,” the stranger answered, a corner of her mouth stretching further into the recesses of her shadowed visage.

_What sort of devilry is this?_

Atris sensed no inkling of the Force within the woman before her and yet she defied all of its laws. A Sith would have exuded negative energy, penetrated the world around them with bristling electricity, poisonous and bittersweet, but what this woman bore was even more unsettling. It was as if she was composed of nothingness and was entirely content with the fact. She was witchcraft, and Atris felt a hidden part of herself begin to fear this stranger’s unknown composition.

“Why are you here?” Atris heard herself say, her voice laced with uneven hesitation.

“You know why I am here,” the mysterious woman said, her voice grating and ancient, as if she were the embodiment of the living dead.

“You have a message for me,” Atris said, without even thinking it first. It was as if she were an automaton, functioning at the whim of an unseen master, or perhaps it was the result of whatever sorcery the figure before her wielded. Atris’ bones felt cold.

“I do,” said the stranger, still sporting her smile, “I know what you did there, at Katarr.”

She stated it as mere fact, there was no hypothesizing about it. She _knew_.

“You may not have anticipated the outcome, but you were successful nonetheless. The Jedi gathered, and the Sith threat manifested, revealing themselves. You were _right_.”

Atris turned from the stranger, looking at the barrenness of her pale chamber. Her study was adorned in all white, but given the lighting of the aqueducts, everything was dim and cast in a dull, dark grey. Atris’ icy blue eyes judged the shadows in the corner of the room, a smile creeping over her lips as she considered the thought. _I **was**_ _right._ But she overcame the expression, dispelling it with a firm scowl despite her inner relief.

"There  _are_ Sith on the edges of space, and they swallowed Katarr whole-"

"I did not mean for them to  _die._ " Atris spat defiantly before the guilt could take root in her chest again, as it did so often since the conclave she was  _meant_ to attend.

"Of course you didn't," the stranger sympathized, her voice suddenly saccharine and sweet, almost sickeningly so, "But they are more powerful than the Jedi ever anticipated, despite your many warnings."

“But that is not your message.”

The woman had taken to her feet, though Atris had not sensed it, and appeared at her shoulder, startling her.

“If you truly wish to draw out the Sith, to face their might, you must try again.” The woman whispered in her ear, swiveling from Atris’ left ear to her right.

Atris swung around to meet the stranger face to face to find her suddenly sitting in her chair on the other side of the room, leaning back quite comfortably, her head forward, keeping her face perfectly hidden from view, save for her wicked grin. Her eyes were veiled, but there was something so familiar about her mouth, the curve of her chin, her choice of words…

“I know your face,” Atris whispered almost wistfully as a plague of goose bumps erupted over her skin as she approached the chair opposite her, now usurped by the stranger. 

“Of course you do, _Master_ Atris.”

And while she spoke the truth, Atris was not sure _how_ she knew that face, that smile, that crooked grin composed of malice and so full of unyielding intent. Her mind was clouded by the Force, as if a veil were held firmly in place, a veil she was not yet meant to lift. The woman's face remained shrouded, but her crooked, cragged mouth rang true with a piece of Atris' memory she could not retrieve.  _This is no Jedi trick, nor anything I know of the Sith._

Atris could not move. She was fixed to the spot before the woman in her chair. The stranger rapped her fingers on the armrests, like an impatient ruler seated atop a throne before an undeserving servant awaiting orders.

“What must I do?”

It took no thought at all. Atris’ knees gave way in a slow descent, easing into a kneeling position before the all-too-familiar yet still unknown stranger, pulling her strings. Despite her loss of control she felt a warmth surround her, the all-encompassing hum of energy that the Force exuded at all times was now ten-fold, and suddenly Atris no longer cared to know who sat in her chair and what face she bore beneath her cowl. _I was right, I was right, I was right._

“Seek out the one who wronged you, and you shall find your answer.”

The stranger’s smile dissolved and what was left beneath her hood was a cragged mass of wrinkled skin.

Atris bowed her head as the Force filled her with absolution. _I was right, I was right, I was right…_

“Release her records. The Sith will follow.”

With her head still bowed, Atris nodded.

“And what then?”

“You will know, in time.” 

The figure stood. Atris remained kneeling, her head bowed, facing the floor with a sense of utmost pride, long awaited recognition, praise filling her every pore, absolving her of sin.

“I will send word. You will know of what I speak when it arrives. It should be seen by your eyes alone, _Master_.”

Were Atris not utterly entranced by unknowable magic, she would have sensed the utter malice in the voice that assured her, the underlying falsehoods in the very notions that soothed her and filled her to calm capacity. The stranger put a gentle hand on the back of Atris’ bowed head, a dark, wrinkled hand upon the pure white silk of Atris’ hair.

 _For now, you will forget me_.

The stranger left, leaving no traces in the physical realm and the slither of an idea in her memory - the faintest of fingerprints on the corners of her mind - and Atris awoke with a start.


	4. The Echo and its Origins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something unspoken lies beneath the sands of Tatooine, the remnants and remains of things long forgotten, as do a great many other mysteries. Darth Erebus, a Dark Jedi in Nihilus' employ studying echoes in the Force, is sent to investigate an ancient site believed to be one of the first known echoes on Sith record, but Erebus finds a relic from his own past instead.

_3951 BBY, Tatooine_

There was something about the silent, seething desert that felt familiar to Darth Erebus, but the Force provided no insight in regards its origin. The whole of Tatooine swallowed the hum of Anchorhead the moment he stepped foot outside of the city gates, it's thrum instantly silenced by the sands. The wind on the dunes was ominous, yet soothing somehow, and Erebus took a moment to soak in the heat of this place, to feel its energies flow through his every pore.

So much of this world was uncertain, full to the brim with uncovered truths long forgotten. The only ones who knew of this world’s true histories did not heed them nor see them as important. They did not find value in the past. The only thing of much value here was moisture and money. Jawas only cared for their caravans, the junk droids and trinkets they salvaged from the Dune Sea, and what they might fetch for parts. The Tusken Raiders only cared for water and where it might be harvested, as any living creature seeking to survive might. They had no need for the knowledge that lay beneath their sands, gathering their weight in gold, which happened to account for quite a lot of credits if inflation was considered.

Erebus had an extensive collection of ancient coins, among other artifacts, composed of gold and other antiquated materials of worth, now collecting nothing but dust and the admiration of his acolytes back on Malachor. Ancient civilizations had cultivated and coveted gold before they knew of much else; some still did, but Darth Erebus had no use for it, unless such peoples had artifacts to trade for rudimentary resources or supplies. Satiating such peoples was almost too easy, and almost an insult to the power of Revan’s Sith Empire, or Malak’s depending on who you talked to... well, whatever was left of it anyway. Despite all their power and gathering strength, a tribe in possession of an ancient holocron would gladly hand it over when offered fresh water or an idol clad in gold leaf, given they did not regard the holocrons as gods themselves - which was known to happen. Such a scenario left Erebus to his own devices, but it was easy to convince such folk that he was himself a god, and that the items he sought were his to reclaim.

His Master would have laughed - that hollow, inhuman laugh. Not like there was anything human left of him.

Unlike Darth Nihilus, Darth Erebus was still very much human and his body was not accustomed to the intense heat of Tatooine’s twin suns. His hands spread at his sides, gathering energy to cool himself down. A flurry of ice spread and settled over his body like a blanket of cool dew, and he sighed before taking one last look at Anchorhead.

Given the sheer magnitude of his life's work, it was more than probable that it would outlive him. It was unlikely he would ever, truly, be finished with his research, so surely death would come for him first. The galaxy was rich with secrets the universe over, and he did not have the years needed to find it all, lest he ask Sion what his secret was...

Much like his old post at the Jedi Archives in a life long left behind, Erebus curated the Sith artifacts now housed at the Trayus Academy on the dead moon of Malachor V. The place still echoed, as it did for many others who had been there when the planet died and those who roamed there now, like Nihilus. But it echoed with a different energy for Erebus. He had not been present when the Mass Shadow Generator consumed the surface and the life force upon it, but  _part_  of him had been there… and in the moments that followed the moon’s destruction, he felt a swell of energy gather within his bones just as every other Jedi felt the Force go hollow.

The desert before him was silent. A spattering of other brave souls peppered the dunes, but they were too far away to make noise that would reach his ears unless Erebus reached out with the Force first. Instead, something stilled him. Something kept him from moving forward and going on with his never-ending quest.

He could not take his eyes off of Anchorhead. He had felt uncertain upon docking here, uncertain meandering the streets, uncertain asking the locals for any pertinent information, uncertain about every crevice and corner of the place… and Erebus rarely felt uncertain anymore. The Force often answered to his whims, revealing ancient secrets and histories of yore, but something more recent resided in Anchorhead that he could not place. Whatever it was, it was somehow  _outside_  of the Force. Upon landing, he assumed this void was the doing of the artifact he sought.  After checking his records, he affirmed that it was still secure just outside of Anchorhead, not within it. The desert stood open before him, inviting, tempting him with fathoms of undisturbed sand guarding a millennia of lost artifacts, forgotten power, knowledge now made legend or myth, and still he found himself drawn to the city behind him.

Hazarding a glance at the Dune Sea, he swiveled and changed course, returning to the gates crowded with Jawa, mercenaries about to embark on questionable expeditions boasting high pay of the too-good-to-be-true variety, travelers conversing in mistranslated gibberish, and impatient Dewbacks kicking the dirt. Standing at the mouth of the city, he laid out its energies before him like a map full of pinpoints, only instead of identifying locations each marker was a living  _something_  that harbored the Force, whether active or inactive, a local going about their shopping or even a blaster that had seen to its fair share of death.

Darth Erebus studied the clusters of energy in his mind’s eye, watching a woman walk while seeing her dark energy overlayed like an aura, a group of slavers posing as traders muddled by darkness for the Force always weighs heavy around those poised to kill. Scanning the ramshackle city, he sensed it again - the void. Squinting as he focused on the absence of energy, he spotted a small hut within a cluster of shops. The storefronts bore samples of what they offered within, stalls swathed in cloth or festooned in salvaged armor, still fresh with sand, their finish made lackluster from the twin suns. But the shop in question stood bare. It was ensconced by a plain doorway, shaded from the heat, offering only a shadowed glimpse of what was inside.

Erebus approached as if entranced. The energies of the city and the images of the world around him fell away. There was only the door and the promise of the mystery, the question of what lay beyond. His skin prickled with anticipation despite the heat of the early morning. It was as if he were approaching an ancient shrine as he often did, as he came here to do, bewitched with curiosity and wonder. Erebus felt as if he were on the brink of discovery, approaching the threshold of a new world worth exploring.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust as he entered the dimly lit stall. Blinking, his green eyes registered several low-lit fluorescent lights along the floor, illuminating rows upon rows of refurbished but inactive droids, standing sentinel in the empty store. Their eyes were vacant, void of light or life. But of course they would be, their power sources were switched off. This wasn't the absence of energy he was looking for - but he was close. Erebus stood in the doorway, a silhouette against the sun beating down on his cloaked back, as he scanned the area in search of any signs of organic life.

Through the Force he felt nothing, but his eyes saw it nevertheless.

There was a rustling behind the main counter. Peering around an older model HK at the doorway, he saw that there was a small workshop haphazardly barricaded by a greasy cloth hanging from its frame.

Instinctively, his mind reached out, sending tendrils of the Force outward to see what it was that rustled, but he sensed nothing.

Radio silence.

He tried again. Nothing but static, stagnant energy.

There was no life in the workshop and yet he spied busy hands working at the wires of a protocol droid. He stood frozen, bewildered and yet somehow soothed. He watched the hands, a woman’s, weave through the wires at the droid’s open neck with utter precision, as if she had done this more times than she could count, that it was almost like breathing. Erebus knew those hands, and he knew exactly why their owner was dead to the Force.

For a moment, he was no longer Darth Erebus. He was younger, arrogant, and eager. He was a young Jedi Master Aiden, spying the not-yet-exiled Jedi Knight Eden --  _Eden Valen_  his mind echoed in remembering -- assembling her lightsaber with the deftest of hands. In the present, the figure stood veiled by a sheet of black hair dyed yellow-blonde. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear, marking her face,  _her painfully familiar face_ , with grease.  She continued working silently, unaware that someone who once betrayed her stood at her doorstep, in awe that she was even alive.

Despite the lack of the Force in the woman before him - a _woman grown and no longer a sister of just seventeen, and oh how much she looks like our mother_  - Erebus could feel the Force welling beneath his skin, his fingertips bristling with electricity. He looked down at his hands, counting measured breaths as he calmed the tendrils of Force lightning escaping his control. The HK droid beside him stirred, affected momentarily by his power, and suddenly a soft chiming rang throughout the shop.

The hands stopped.

“Be there in a sec,” the woman called, her voice just as Erebus remembered it sounding, imbued with the slight cadence of perpetual annoyance.

He must have triggered the device that welcomed customers, but Darth Erebus was no customer. He was not quite sure what he was.

He could hear Eden stirring –  _Oh, how surprisingly soothing it was to think of her, here in the present, and present in a rather pleasant state of undead_  – from beyond her greased barricade, but Erebus froze. Despite his changed appearance - his sallow skin and his sunken but now violent green eyes that were no longer the soft moss his irises once were - he knew she would recognize him instantly. In another lifetime, years before either of them felt the true weight of death, they had been inseparable. From the womb to Dantooine, they were counterparts, not interchangeable but so inherently integral to the other that they very much embodied two halves clinging to a complete whole that they only had when together.

He suddenly felt wanting. Erebus yearned to once again assume a version of himself he had not been for years, a person void of jealousy, hate, and unwarranted unrest - a version of himself that was only ever truly at home when he was with his sister.

Erebus watched as Eden ducked beneath her makeshift curtain, emerging from the doorway, but before she could stand straight to meet his gaze, he backed away. He knew the sun would cloak him, cast his features in shadow as he became a mere silhouette on her threshold before he dissolved into the desert. The heat of the Tatooine suns felt unbearable against his back, and he felt drained of any power.

Before Eden could arrive at her own doorstep to inquire after him, he lifted his hood and turned on his heel.

With swift steps, he swept passed the Anchorhead gates and instead made for his ship at the dock, now suddenly unable to catch his breath. He felt like a child again, flustered and unsure of himself, floundering in the wake of his sister who was always so much more inherently talented than he ever was, who never had to  _try -_  and here he was, again, running away from her, even though she was powerless now. But was she? What power was there in being deaf to the Force? Dead to it? Was she exempt from the will of the Force, from existence? Did her choices garner no consequences? Did the fabric of the very universe bend to her presence? Or had she effected it so much that it chose to close her out, to forget her, like Erebus had when he was still called Aiden Valen, Master Historian after Atris left for the Council, harboring no refuge for the half-dead sister that no longer wanted anything to do with the galaxy but offered her one true companion, her brother, an apology he would never accept, at least not without retribution. Erebus had convinced himself that the Force had taken care of her for him, for all of the harm she had caused it, for its wounds that still festered at Malachor, the place he now called home.

Malachor echoed for Darth Erebus in a way so completely different than it did for the other Sith who dwelled there. He was once told that his other half had perished upon its surface, and he made it his life’s work to uncover the fine details, to find what traces of her remained amidst the stars that were left dead in her wake. He wanted to own her in a way he was never able to as her shadow, as her lesser twin, in life. Erebus wanted to reclaim what was his and Malachor gave it to him, her head glistening on its silver platter. Yet here she was, alive and breathing, exempt from it all.

His breath quickened. Erebus’ reflex sent out tendrils of the Force once more, but this time to test the waters, to see whether he was being followed by the very void that defined his existence. The hollow part of the Force remained, in the shop by the brink, unmoving. And still his limbs carried him to the solace of his ship, to its silent quarters where something familiar might calm him and quell him of worry.  
  
The blast doors could not open fast enough. With a wave of an impatient hand, they bolted open, bypassing their programming and bending to his dark will. Passersby watched with wary eyes, but for the moment he cared not. The loading ramp of his vessel descended and the sinking feeling in his chest weighed heavy, equally laden and elated, worried but somehow relieved.

 _She’s here, she’s alive, she’s_ ** _here. Alive._ **

His mind raced faster than the Force could care to catch up, and lightning prickled at his fingertips again.

_Inhale, exhale. Inhale..._

Habit drew him to the cockpit, his mind already on autopilot. Nervous fingers smoothed back his hair as he sat at the controls, not prepared to do anything other than wait.

Wait… _wait._

His ship was enclosed in the loading dock, but in his mind’s eye the Force allowed him full view of the desert beyond. Somewhere out there lay his quandary, silent and waiting, just as he was. But perhaps this was it, perhaps this was fate. Maybe this is what the Force had intended all those years ago when his sister died and he was called to join another cause, a cause that  _wanted_  him, a cause that  _needed_  him, a cause that relied on his closeness to her, once, and used his knowledge as a crutch for the empire to come. She may not be as dead as rumor would have it, but in a way she was as dead as one could be, and perhaps that was the key. The key to everything. After all these years of ruing her existence, maybe her being alive was the final piece of a cosmic plan falling into place that The Powers That Be had yet to uncover and claim for themselves.

And he would be here to set it in stone. Darth Erebus could claim it all.


	5. What Lies Beneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since her exile from the Jedi Order nine years prior, Eden Valen has dedicated her life to the ignored post-war relief efforts on the Outer Rim. Despite her tendency to keep moving, Eden remains stationed on Tatooine because of a gut feeling that tells her Revan may have left something behind. When she's invited to take part in an expedition, Eden discovers just what might have piqued Revan's interest, and she's convinced that something larger is at work.

_3951 BBY, The Tatooine Dune Sea_

Eden Valen had not dreamt since Malachor. Nor had she gone by the name Eden.

These days, she was Vale - just Vale.

The last person to say her true name aloud had cursed it. It was not fair to say that her name was _said_ , as if to imply that it was spoken calmly in conversation. Instead, it was _hissed_ at her, _Ede_ , with mock affection. The voice that uttered it into unbeing belonged to a man who had perished before the end of the war itself, a man who had a history of abandoning names and adopting new ones. She hated to admit that it was he who gave her the idea of creating a new one for herself in the first place.

And it was this same man whose legacy she was cleaning up after. Even after all these years.

As responsible as Revan was - for this and for _everything,_ if Vale was feeling vindictive enough - the disarray of the galaxy at present was Malak’s doing, and Tatooine was not the only world suffering for it. At least its sands easily soaked up spilled blood and was good at hiding it to boot.

It was because Vale no longer dreamt that she was standing out on the sand dunes before dawn, watching the first golden disc begin its ascent across the empty Outer Rim sky. The hijacked sandcrawler at her back kept the heat from tormenting her, though the day ahead was long and it sure as hell would not be forgiving.

A hand at her shoulder disrupted her reverie, bringing the fragments of her imaginings back to the present, back to being the straw-haired Vale, a freckle-faced introvert with twin-sun savaged skin and a knack for droid parts. Some aspects of Vale were true for the exiled Jedi, Eden, but she hoped there was no one around who could connect the dots.

At her shoulder was Asra Sunfell, all smiles and poise. The Togruta had somehow convinced her that this job was worth the risk, but more importantly that it was worth the money. Aside from water, money was all that mattered on this Maker forsaken rock. Vale didn’t care for money herself, and neither did Eden when all her roleplay was considered. What was important was that Vale _act_ as if the money meant something to her, like any other spacer might.

“You ready?” Asra squinted up at her with bright eyes, warm honey yellow irises glowing against her red-orange skin, her mouth set in her trademark perpetual half-smile. Vale nodded, responding with a smile of her own.  
  
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Vale heard herself say. _Aren’t we all?_

Footfalls on the ramp behind them drew Vale’s attention away from the dunes. Out from the crawler emerged the mercenary heading the expedition, Orex, a man with sand-brown hair going grey and dark skin nearly covered with nicks and healed-over wounds. At Orex’s shoulder was his cronie Darek Mal, a tall Zabrak with a well-worn rifle cradled in his scarred arm, like always. Darek nodded at the two women in greeting, but Orex had a look in his good eye that told them he was annoyed to find them here.

His steps stopped where the ramp met the sand. He took a moment to survey the area, his dark eyes scanning the sands before landing on Asra and Vale, looking them up with a curt nod.

“We’re heading out.” Orex grunted.

Darek waved his blaster about as if it were a means of dispensing Orex’s orders. Asra jogged over to the ramp, stopping just before the two men.

“But I thought this was the site?” She asked them eagerly, one hand on her hip, the other casually stroking the holster at her side. Vale wasn’t sure that Orex got the hint. Despite Asra’s light demeanor, she didn’t like being taken for a fool.

“No,” was all Orex said before he turned on his heel and disappeared up into the belly of the hijacked beast. Darek remained on the ramp, holding Asra’s gaze.

On the other side of the crawler was an abandoned moisture rig and a cave not too far off that smelled suspiciously like krayt dragon. Vale believed this to be the site as well, especially since Orex had chosen to stop the crawler in the middle of the night. Admittedly, Vale felt different once she stepped out onto the sand before the suns rose. She figured it was a means of saving fuel and energy, a way of appearing like any other caravan of Jawa, but maybe there was a reason Orex was playing the part so hard. Maybe someone was watching them.

“We’re a couple hundred kilometers off. We’ll be there after breakfast,” the Zabrak assured Asra. Vale was not entirely sure what had transpired between the two, if anything, but Darek had an unspoken softness for Asra that he kept hidden from Orex if possible, but let slip whenever he wasn’t looking. Vale picked up on it, though, and took note. Vale joined Asra on the ramp, taking one last look at desert, and wondered whether the feeling in her gut was something worth heeding or if it was simply the lack of a decent meal.

Darek eyed Vale as she ascended the ramp. Their eyes locked, and Darek nodded, as if in acknowledgment. But Vale recognized the look in his eye, that look of uncertain familiarity, that second glance laden with momentary flashes of thought that said ‘ _Don’t I know you from somewhere?_ ’

Vale didn’t linger but nodded in return before ducking into the shadow of the sandcrawler.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom of the interior despite the still-early morning sun, with Tatooine’s second star barely on the horizon. Sandcrawlers were never equipped with decent lighting as it was. Vale figured it had to do with the Jawa, their amber eyes always aglow.

The hold was still full of equipment, the use of which was mostly unknown. Vale had spent a majority of the trip out here to the-literal-middle-of-nowhere studying what she could. She found several repair modules on the upper level, used mostly for quick repairs and diagnostics, but she made sure to upload whatever she could to her personal datapad while she had the time, even machines whose purpose she wasn’t sure of yet. Either way, her shop back at Anchorhead could use the specs.

Her eyes darted about the cargo hold before falling upon the common area, where she expected at least Asra and Darek to meet her at the mention of ‘breakfast’.

Orex was nowhere in sight, as expected, but Vale found two of the crew already stationed at the makeshift kitchen as the crawler’s treads began shifting over the sands again. Asra sat eagerly at a workbench-turned-table with one hand stroking one of her head-tails as Vale entered. The other young woman, known only as Glitch, sat silently, arms crossed, her dark hair veiling her face from view.

Before Vale could get comfortable, Darek entered, the nozzle of his rifle nudging her in the small of her back. She jerked forward, shooting him a warning glance, but the Zabrak seemed genuinely sorry when her eyes met his. Too caught up with Asra, perhaps, but still unnerving, even if he was clumsy about his bullying. Vale spotted Orex just over his shoulder, having just arrived. His figure hulked in the doorframe, but he didn’t budge. Darek slung his rifle up on a nearby hook as he gathered plates, and Vale took it upon herself to unload the rations.

“ _Mmm_ , delicious. Straight from the Imperial grade emergency stores.” Asra joked, yielding a reluctant chuckle from the depths of Vale’s throat as she filled her plate. Glitch made no mention of thanks. Orex didn’t move and watched on in silence. Darek nodded appreciatively, at least, and Vale did, too, in turn.

“I take it we’re due east?” Vale asked. She was asking Darek, whose expression seemed open, at least compared to Orex, but it was the latter who answered.

Orex grunted in affirmation, finding words beneath him.

Vale saw his good eye glint from the doorway out of her peripheral vision, but failed to actually look him at him straight. There was something about this mission that made her come along, and it wasn’t Asra’s enthusiasm as much as she would like to take the credit. Something had brought Vale to Anchorhead before she had met any of the crew, and this was her chance to find out exactly what it was. Asra was the one to recruit her. She finally managed to convinced Vale to come along to the cantina after talking her ear off at the shop, and throw back a few drinks before broaching the subject, but it was the _way_ Vale threw back those few drinks that made Orex agree to bring her along. Despite her own reasons for coming, Vale had to admit that she was curious enough to find out why that made a difference.

Speaking of which, Darek had poured several drinks, in addition to the water he had already served.

As if reading her thoughts, Orex grunted again, but with words this time.

“For the nerves.”

The second cup adjoining each of their meals was filled with a clear liquid, though somehow clearer than the tall water glasses beside them. Vale forgot the name of the stuff, but knew it to be a popular drink for mercs to test rookies, initiates, or anyone else willing to go on a mission with them if necessary. A captain had to know whether his comrades could be trusted, and apparently the fermented juice of this solitary Tatooine desert flower had the power to divulge such information. Eden – correction: _Vale_ – did not feel what she believed was the intended effect, but instead felt a slight tingling in her limbs that most other forms of alcohol failed to instill in her Jedi-trained body. Even though the Force was mute, her Jedi training made itself apparent in other ways. The faint numbness was nice, and at first she thought it was her ease of spirit that granted her a seat on this expedition, but as she watched Orex now she had a feeling it was something else entirely.

“Drink up,” he said.

The crew swallowed their servings in unison.

Vale downed her glass of water afterward, noting that Orex never once touched his food. The rest of them ate in silence. She could tell Asra yearned to speak, as always, but chose to do so only once the others had left. The two of them shared Orex’s uneaten rations, exchanging glances.

“I know you didn’t want to come along at first,” Asra began, taking unapologetic helpings of Orex’s uneaten mystery loaf, “I have a feeling it’ll be worth it.”

Vale nodded as she picked at a piece of hard bread, taking pains to look outwardly assured though not quite feeling it. She met Asra’s hopeful eyes before turning away, afraid of looking for too long, of instilling _too_ much hope. Asra needed her assurance. It was the one thing she felt she truly knew about the woman: that she needed this expedition to work out somehow, and to whatever end. Asra meant well, but Vale wasn’t so sure about Orex, or what he knew.

Part of her suspected that their expedition leader and his lackey were Mandalorians, or anyone else that might recognize her from the war. Her face hadn’t been plastered around as much as Revan and her mask had been, but anyone who fought alongside a teenage Jedi would surely remember their face. Eden was the youngest of Revan’s Jedi Generals. She also served as her Left Hand, leading Revan’s ground forces from the time she was just nineteen years old. The other soldiers had called her “spitfire”, both out of admiration and fear. There was a time when many in the Republic believed that Master Kavar would lead the Jedi to war. Years later, it would be the renegade Revan instead, but it would be Kavar’s would-be apprentice Eden Valen that took his place upon the battlefield and scared the Mandalorians beyond words. Rumor had it they had created a new word for her entirely, a word now so ingrained in Mando’an that it was commonplace among the scattered tribes’ new traditions and legends, but Eden never heard of it. And Vale was none the wiser.

There had to be a reason why Orex treated her the way he did. There had to be a reason as to why he had okayed Asra’s suggestion to take her on and why Derek was so _odd_ around her. Despite her curiosity, Vale needed to find out what was at the heart of this expedition more than anything. After all, it was the reason why she chose to make a home out of Anchorhead in the first place.

She had first come to this planet for the promise of work, not expecting to stay long. That was life on the Outer Rim, for you. You either moved around or never left the place you were born. Rumor had it that that there was an endless supply of salvageable droid-parts that yearned for her expertise to tinker with, parts still worthy of something other than catching the suns’ rays and beckoning lone wanderers out onto the sands like a glittering mirage. Like many places on the Outer Rim, Tatooine had a heaviness about it, and though there was a skirmish or two out here before the war was ever deemed “official”, the heaviness Vale felt had nothing to do with Revan’s war or the mess that followed. There was something older and far more sinister lying in wait beneath its sands.

Vale did not know how she knew - she just did. She had heard that others, non-Jedi so-to-speak, were prone to what they called “gut feelings” and she figured that this was its way of telling her that something was wrong, even if she did not know how or why. With the Force mute, her only means of finding out was looking for herself.

It took Vale one trip to the bar to hear the tale for the first time, and upon that first instance of eavesdropping she knew that her gut was trying to tell her something about _this_. According to Asra, Orex and his crew had been looking for a droid repair technician for a while, but there were several other haphazard crews looking for experts to venture out into the dry unknown in search of a cache that lay near one of the older, long abandoned settlements outside of Anchorhead. Nowadays, no one set up camp anywhere further than maybe five, ten miles away from the hub, but this particular settlement was out there. _Really_ out there. Word around the campfire was that this particular place dated back to when a city other than Anchorhead ruled supreme in these parts, a city now lost to time and fathomless volumes of sand. If anyone knew anything about it, including as to whether any of it might be true, the Jawa or the Tusken Raiders would know -  of course, they never spoke of such things, nor cared. Rumor also had it that hundreds of other similar expeditions came out here to this settlement and none had ever returned intact, let alone with any loot.

It was a bit of a legend around these parts, but despite Vale’s bad feeling it was commonplace for this planet. Tatooine settlements popped up just as quickly as they disappeared, inhabitants packing up and moving on the very moment the resources were spent. The fact that the old settlement still had anything of value was the unusual part - why would anyone leave? Why would any of it still be there?

Before she could ponder the ominous nature of their purpose any further, Asra’s hand reached over and grasped hers. She looked up and met Asra’s bright eyes - all fire and excitement. The Togruta’s smile was contagious and Vale hoped that something they might find would merit it, for Asra’s sake.

Just as Vale’s other hand closed over Asra’s, confirming her confidence, she felt the crawler slow to a halt. Small sunwashed domes, the typical housing style of Tatooine dwellings, pulled into view. Several dilapidated moisture rigs peppered the scene outside the window, but Darek was already beckoning them out onto the ramp with his rifle from the doorway before they could get a better look.

Orex’s silhouette stood sentinel at the bottom of the ramp when Vale and Asra arrived at the opening. Glitch stood beside them, unmoving, though Vale had no idea when the girl had even appeared. Vale figured that going outdoors was a bit of an ordeal for the girl whose skin was far too pale for any Tatooine native, and she wondered what brought her out here at all. Vale’s own skin was far darker than her normal tone, and now it was even sprinkled with constellations of freckles she never knew existed before living on this damn planet. She almost looked like a completely different person, and Vale wanted to keep it that way.

That same bad feeling ate away at her on the ramp, amplified now that they were here, and a desolate, deserted settlement stood silently before them.

“Let’s move out.” Orex grumbled, his voice echoing up the ramp to Glitch, Asra and Vale. The three women began their descent with Vale keeping up the rear.

Her eyes darted, taking in more than her mind could handle. Even after all these years, Vale still found herself relying on that long lost phantom limb of the Force – old habits and all. Moments like these were rarer now, but when they crept up on her, they left a bitter taste in her mouth, lingering with longing and sour sentiments.

The crawler was parked a few hundred feet away from the settlement, so it took a moment for Vale’s eyes to adjust to the bright domes that peppered the landscape once they escaped the long shadow of their hijacked vehicle.

Aside from the fact that there was no living thing in sight, Vale could swear that this place hardly looked abandoned. There did not seem to be a sign of a struggle. Not to mention, there was just too much _stuff_ lying about for the place to be so long unused. According to legend, this place had been empty since before Revan came round these parts, and that was nearing on fifteen, maybe twenty years now. Why was this still here? The unlikely nature of the scenario had Vale itching for the shock staff strapped to her back, her other hand hovering over the holster of her blaster rifle.

The group fanned out behind Orex and Darek’s lead, who now stood near what appeared to be the ceremonious entrance to the settlement, now left in ruins.

The remains of an archway stood at either side of the party as Orex waited for them all to gather at his back. His head was turned just so, but he did not turn to face them. When Vale’s steps came to a stop, Orex waved his arm, beckoning them onward.

Vale shot Asra a dark look, her brows furrowed, questioning. Asra shrugged, but Vale noticed that her hand, too, lingered near her holster.

Without orders, Vale extracted a scanner from her utility belt and powered it on. Even if Orex didn’t say otherwise, this was the reason why she was here - presumably, anyway. The bad feeling that possessed her when she first landed on this planet was as pervasive as it had been from the start, but she would at least play the part for now.

Her scanner powered on, calming her with its familiar hum. Asra glanced back at her, but this time wondering if she saw anything of value. Already, it displayed more readings than she could count. Either they would gather what equipment they could once they doubled back, or they weren’t here for the equipment at all. Vale’s other hand never left the vicinity of her blaster. Its weight against her leg comforted her as they continued on, deeper into the village.

The settlement consisted of maybe ten, fifteen dwellings, but now they were at the center. A large, empty basin stood before them, and Orex finally found it appropriate to turn around and face the rest of them. Vale extended her head slightly as they approached, wondering if she could see the bottom, and found a pile of bones piled loosely at its base along with a thin layer of sand. Vale wondered if the others saw, or if this is what made Orex turn around.

The man glared ahead, not looking at them, but just past them, as if suddenly finding himself in a staring contest with the twin suns at their backs. His good eye squinted while the other remained wide and white, unseeing but still hooded beneath a heavy, weary eyelid.

“You’re to follow me.” He said, first. Orex remained looking somewhere just beyond the rest of them, failing to make eye contact, though Vale knew he was not avoiding it. “We can collect any exposed equipment afterward, but that’s not why we’re here.”

Vale had a feeling that Orex meant to direct them to what was inside versus outside. Maybe whatever spoils lay strewn about was damaged, sun-exposed and unusable - such was the case with a lot of junk you found out in the desert. The sun, let alone two of them, could do a number on any kind of hardware, though it depended on what it was. Judging by the looks of what was nearby, everything seemed oddly preserved. The sands were known to keep bodies fresh, if the bones weren’t licked clean from being too near the surface. Anything with a thick enough layer of sand above it could stand the test of time. Bodies were different from equipment though, and by all means none of this stuff should be here, at least not in the condition that it was. Vale was surprised that a massive sand dune had not already consumed this place and swallowed it whole, but maybe there was a reason for that.

As before, Darek waved his rifle about as if to redirect their attention, and in the wake of Orex’s lead they were brought to the inner quarters of the first house on the square. It took a moment to adjust to the gloom, but Vale’s eyes soon settled on small furnishings, spoiled food, and crates of indistinguishable stuff. It would appear that whoever lived here had simply picked up and left.

“See what you can find,” Orex grunted, almost as an afterthought. Vale watched as his eyes scanned the main living area, only briefly glancing into the smaller quarters that branched off. Glitch was already gone, her fast hands taking something apart by the sound of it, and Darek pushed some crates about with the toe of his boot. A lid slid off, revealing its contents, and he nodded at Asra. She inched forward, glancing in, and nodded in affirmation before kneeling down and rifling through the crate. She shook her head, having found nothing of value, and resumed her standing position, hand hovering over her holster again. Vale’s scanner bleeped minimally, but detected nothing of value that was not already lying outside.

Judging by the map on Vale’s screen, most of the moisture rigs still worked, or could at least dredge up droplets if beckoned to. There might be something in their wells, buried not far below ground, but Vale had a feeling Orex didn’t bring her along just to find water.

Glitch emerged from a doorway, her hair askew for just a moment before she adjusted it. Vale had no idea what her specialty was or what she had found, but her utility pack seemed to weigh more than it did before.

Orex nodded and they all moved out.

They repeated this routine twice over before Vale’s suspicions began to eat away at her. She had salvaged one droid for most of its parts so far, and the intelligence module of another, but the way Orex carried himself and the way Darek kept looking over his shoulder unnerved her. She watched as the latter’s burgundy hands gripped his rifle tighter and tighter, his knuckles slowly growing white.

They approached their third dwelling when she saw it, though Vale was not sure what _it_ was. The hut was almost the same as the others, but this one had no droid, like the first, so she remained idle and waiting, watching as the others scoured every corner. Her scanner did not beep in recognition of anything in close proximity, but Vale’s eyes were drawn to a crudely configured trinket sitting beside her on a shelf. The shelf itself was otherwise crowded with other useless things, old spices and empty bottles, a rusted canteen, and miscellaneous scraps now dissolved to dust.

She examined it from the corner of her eye at first, not wanting to draw attention. Its surface was smooth, almost unnaturally so. It was small, but it reflected light like nothing else she had ever seen. Its surface was of the utmost black, and it appeared to absorb the light as if it were drawing energy from it. It must have been a rock, a fragment of onyx or something like that. It was carved into a three-sided pyramid, taller than it was wide, and it stood starkly against the rest of what they had seen so far. Everything else was rough, or at least covered with sand. This trinket, however, looked completely untouched.

Vale pocketed the small pyramid just as Orex urged them onward.

In the following two dwellings, Vale spotted similar pyramids, each one as black as the space between stars, their surface as smooth as the void itself. They varied in size and they were scattered about in seemingly meaningless patterns - that is, until they came upon the next dwelling.

This hut received the least light of them all, and yet there it stood, a glimmering distraction begging Vale’s attention from the corner of her eye. Unlike the other objects, this one was mounted to a wall in the main living area. It was larger than the others. Hanging at eye level, Vale figured it was about the size of her head. It did not protrude very far from the wall, but its sleek and alien appearance set it apart from the native Tatooine belongings that surrounded it.

Her eyes were fixed upon its unearthly surface, unsure as to how much time had passed. Everything slowed, including the realization that Asra’s hand was absently reaching up to touch the thing.

“Asra...” Vale heard herself say, but the woman did not hear her. “Asra, wait-”

Vale somehow knew that this was not a thing to be touched, and though she was not sure what told her to speak out, it was too late. It was only once Asra’s fingers had brushed against the smooth side of the object’s pyramidal surface that she looked up at Vale, hearing her a beat too late, her mind not quite in sync with reality. If Vale had access to the Force, it might have told her what sort of devilry bewitched this place and what it was they might find here. All Vale felt was her gut giving way to the uncertainty taking root in her chest.

Asra’s warm, yellow irises looked up at Vale, wide and worried, as the pyramid began to sink backward into the wall. Orex turned to her, his good eye flaring, his blaster rifle ready, but he took to watching the wall instead of looking to reprimand either of them for setting off a booby trap...or whatever the hell this thing was.

The rough wall swallowed the pyramid whole, leaving a bare space in its wake, and once it stopped, a small part of the floor began to give way. Sand drained and stairs appeared, step by step, leading downward into an unfathomable abyss.

Vale watched on, unbelieving. Once she regained her senses and overcame her initial disbelief, she looked up. Vale met Asra’s eyes again, flashing with the same uncertain sense of surprise.

Orex turned to Vale, as if demanding an explanation. _How did you know?_ He meant to say, but Orex said nothing. Vale’s skin prickled despite the heat - how _did_ she know? And why was she able to tell what Orex was thinking?

Orex remained silent. He turned from her and approached the manifested steps with caution, peering into its depths. He tested the first step with his foot, as if afraid that it might dissolve into dust at the touch. It remained solid and Orex looked at them all in turn.

“This is it,” he said, to their surprise. He did not elaborate.

Vale and Asra exchanged dark looks. Even Glitch shifted her weight nervously from foot to foot. Darek nodded at Orex and held his gun aloft as usual, but made a point of holding it higher, as if he intended to use it this time. Orex nodded back at them before disappearing into the darkness.

Glitch followed Orex and Darek respectively, without a word. Asra shook her head as if to ask _What the hell?_ Vale shook her head in response, just as confused and just as unsure. Asra held out her hand and without question Vale took it, following as Asra lead the way, her blaster ready at her hip. Vale unhitched her shock staff, keeping up the rear as she was used to, overcome with the feeling that someone, somewhere, was watching.

Once she reached the bottom, Vale could see the rest of the party up ahead. Orex held a stun baton aloft as a means of precaution as well as a source of minimal light. Asra looked back at her, mouthing wordlessly ‘ _What is this? Where are we?’_ but Vale could only shake her head.

_This is it. This has to be it._

Vale caught a glance of the party ahead of her, their silhouettes crowding behind the feeble light that Orex’s stun baton provided, when the light flickered. Orex shook the baton, cursing an inconveniently bad battery before the baton shuddered and snapped, sparks flying. Vale saw Orex duck in the flash, instinctually entering a defense position, before everything went dark.

The air grew thick as the darkness became all-ecnompassing. Asra’s fingers tightened around Vale’s hand. She didn’t notice the adrenaline coursing through her until she reached back for her shock staff, her hand shaking with nervous energy running its course as her thumb nudged the switch on. The air came alive. In the light of her staff, Vale saw that she and Asra were alone. The Togruta looked back at her, her bright eyes wide and white-blue in the light, her brow furrowed. Asra tightened her grip on Vale’s hand as she slung her blaster out of its holster and around her finger before holding it steady.

Asra nodded, “Stay with me.”

Vale did not need to be told, but she nodded in agreement regardless. Only a moment had passed and the others were somehow missing. Her skin prickled with fear but Vale was not a stranger to the feeling. She had swallowed fear before, and had a feeling it would come for her again the moment she agreed to come here. Vale felt it as early as moment she first stepped foot on the sands of Anchorhead. The last few months led to this moment, and here it was.

Vale and Asra inched down the hall, watching their backs and turning every which way, following the dim light with their weapons at the ready. Without speaking, they knew to keep quiet, their ears eager to pick up any sounds that might lead them back towards their party.

The halls were eerily silent. It was hard to tell where they had come from and where they had yet to venture. The subterranean cavern splintered, creating a labyrinth of paths that were near impossible to navigate without any sense of direction. Every so often, Asra or Vale would pause, believing to have heard something, before shaking their head and moving onward.

Vale knew Asra was teeming with questions, and maybe now she knew what made Vale so uneasy about the expedition in the first place. Vale had no access to the Force, but she did not need it to tell her that this place teemed with darkness - a darkness both familiar and foreboding.

“ _Revan said you were as good as dead.”_

Vale spun around, dragging Asra along with her. Asra’s blaster clawed along the wall beside her, showering their midriffs in dust and dirt.

Instead of lashing out with anger or annoyance, Asra tugged at Vale’s hand, begging that she look at her.

_"So how does it feel? Being dead?”_

“What is it?” Asra whispered.

_"You don’t know what you’re missing, Ede.”_

Vale looked at her wide-eyed and silent for a moment before responding, “Did you hear that?”

_“Answer me!”_

“Hear what?” Asra’s face was genuine, concerned. Asra’s eyes left hers, zoning out as she strained to hear whatever Vale claimed.

Vale did the same again, too, but the halls were silent again, save for her heavy breathing.

Hearing Malak's voice again, hearing it _here_ , set her skin on fire and her chest felt as if it might burst. She heard his new metallic voice on holovids years ago, long after she had last seen him. It was low, grating, and completely inhuman. But she heard his voice now, his _true_ voice, as if he were standing just beside her, hissing in her ear, his face close enough for her to feel breath upon her cheek. 

Shuddering at the thought, Vale shook the idea from her head and whispered, “Nothing, never mind.” Asra nodded, knowing that Vale was not telling her the whole truth but did not press the matter further.

They assumed their positions and kept searching, delving deeper and deeper into the maze, as if they were only entangling themselves further into an unending web.

Vale could not shake the dread that gnawed at her gut, fear gripping her more than it ever had since the war. Something was wrong, something was very wrong.

Asra shot her a worried glance, and Vale felt the mirrored anxiety in her stare. She had worked so hard to put up a front, to reshape herself as an indifferent but well-intentioned introvert, and here she was clinging to the single friend she had denied was anything more than an acquaintance until now. Judging by Asra’s eyes, she heard something this time.

Asra inhaled deeply, held her breath, and exhaled, her grip tightening on her blaster.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Vale nodded in agreement, and held her staff aloft but firmer than before. Without speaking, they both stopped, having sensed that something lurked nearby. Just as their footfalls stilled, a wail pierced the stagnant air, echoing off the walls with an unearthly repetition. There was only one scream, but soon there were thousands, and there was almost no knowing where it had come from. Vale took a moment, her brain having slowed from shock, or perhaps it was something else, because somehow she knew where the noise was coming from despite the dissonance.

Again, without communicating, Asra knew to follow as Vale tugged at her arm, her senses leading her to their destination, to wherever the danger called them. Judging by the pitch of the scream, it was Glitch who called out.

Vale led Asra through the labyrinth, almost as if she had been here before. Her skin prickled with some mysterious familiarity, but the urgency of the scream and the growing unease in her chest kept her moving forward. Adrenaline coursed through her veins at full force until she walked into a dream, suddenly serene.

The once-dark corridors ceased to exist, and Vale did not recall when their shadows had been swallowed. When did they get here? How much time had passed? Had they always been here? Maybe they had come into being and had lived out their existence in this cavern alone, and anything that might be construed as memory were mere figments of their wild imaginations. They were simply _here_ now, and light emanated from everywhere and nowhere at once, but once she was overcome with a wave of unnatural calm, Vale knew again that something was wrong. Very wrong.

She heard an ocean. Calming and soft. Foamy waves lapping on a shore nearby, but not here. It was if she was holding a conch shell to her ear, basking in its sounds, but they filled the cavernous expanse before them. After what felt like an eternity, she came back to herself, knowing that she was under some sort of spell. And for some reason, she thought of rain.

The calm fell away, and Vale felt that urgent heat return to her skin, that feeling of anxiety that takes over when danger was near, lurking unseen but undoubtedly close and on the brink of causing some unknowable chaos.

Asra’s hand was still in hers, but she saw that her face was scrunched up, her blaster fallen to the floor as her free hand reached up to claw at her ear, and the others were doing the same. Vale still heard the waves crashing upon that unseen shore, as if she were tuning in to a different frequency by pure luck… _luck?_

Glitch was hunched over, twitching on her knees. Orex’s good eye was shut tight, and Darek was crouched over, swaying forward and back, his eyes wide, trying to get a hold of himself.

Vale froze.

And that’s when she saw it.

As the unnatural calm fell further away, unclouding her consciousness as the temporary veil was lifted, she saw where they stood in real time. They stood in a monolithic cavern, gaping and wide. Crags in the sandy rock seemed natural and yet somehow _un_ natural, too, splintering into intricate patterns that were both rugged and rich at once. Vale’s eyes climbed upward in awe, getting lost in a honeycomb of stalactites before finally settling on what stood before them.

Upon a crudely shaped altar carved into the rock wall - carved by water, man, or otherwise, Vale could not tell - was a series of pyramidal crystals, each glowing and glittering with a phantom light that seemed to emanate from within. They were black but bright, sprinkled with what appeared to be space dust swirling within their finite yet fathomless forms. Vale’s eyes went wide. She allowed herself a moment before heeding the growing sense of alarm in her chest, warning her that there was something dark here, that there was something _wrong_.

Everything in the room seemed to slow, as if the air itself were crystallizing before their very eyes. As Glitch shuddered and Darek tried to hold his own, Vale noticed that Orex’s eyes were unfocused and faraway as his blaster lowered as if forced against his will. And that’s when Vale saw the bodies…

Bones piled high against the walls, and the floor of the cavern was covered in the powder-white dust of skeletons long-dissolved. Weaponry littered the cavern, models from nearly every generation Vale knew of, as well as models she was unfamiliar with entirely.

And then there were the whispers.

They were soft, like the sound of the foamy waves washing upon that sandy shore from a moment ago, an image so distant from the place they were now - so dry, so desolate. The whispers slithered into her thoughts, sowing sentiment without her consent, as if singing a song that would coax her quietly and let her see whatever this energy wanted her to see.

She held onto Asra’s hand as tightly as she could, but they were both slipping. There was no sound other than the sound of the soothing waves. She tried to dredge up old Force tactics, but came up blank, the sounds growing louder and louder, now laced with the unearthly sound of static on a radio, growing, growing, growing - and then the signal became clear.

_Forfeit your lives to us, the true inheritors of the Universe. Revel in our glory and be reborn in the undying Empire to come._

The voice was fractured, multiplying and echoing off of itself as every syllable was spoken.

_We feed the Force and Force feeds us. We control the seeds and tell the roots where to grow._

Images flashed before her eyes, rapid-fire, almost too fast for her to comprehend with any semblance of understanding. She somehow felt entire populations swelling with energy, cities raised and then burned to the ground, planets consumed in flame and entire systems erased within moments of monuments replacing them, monolithic and mesmerizing. It was as if she were watching the birth of the universe unfold before her eyes within the span of a moment, lives lived and stripped away, and throughout it all she felt it again, that familiar thread tugging at the corners of her mind, tingling with energy and light - the Living Force.

_Feed our Empire and you may live on forever._

Vale’s eyes shot open.

Her fingers were bristling, her skin on edge. Vale’s entire body was a waking limb, plagued by pins and needles as she came to. Everything seemed so bright, and moved too quickly, and everything was so _loud._ She blinked several times, trying to focus. The world around her still swam, but she saw the others beside her.

Asra was at her side, blinking hard as if convincing herself that none of this was real. Her eyes fell on Vale, her worry evident in her expression.

“Did you-?”

“I- I think so…”

But before they could speak about what just happened, Orex grabbed Vale by the collar, forcing her off her feet. “ _You.”_

Vale elbowed the man in the neck but missed, still weak from the visions, yet she managed to land her joint forcefully in the space between his collarbone and shoulder. His grip eased as he grunted, coming face to face with Vale’s electrified staff thrumming before his eyes, but he remained unfazed.

“ _You_ ,” Orex repeated, “You could help it stop, General.”

“What?”

“I know-“ he said, out of breath, “that _you_ know - what those are _, and_ what they’re made of.” Orex advanced on her despite the threat of her weapon. He threw his arm back in the direction of the crystals on the dais, looking at her with an odd expression, mingled with fear and melancholy.

Vale looked toward the altar, immediately drawn to crystals once she did. Her eyesight was still on overload - everything was vibrant and she could see the energy thrumming in everything. Her mind quieted for a moment as the realization dawned on her. _No. No it can’t be._

“We saw them on Dxun, deep in the jungle, do you remember?”

Orex’s voice was still rough with urgency, but there was a tinge of familiarity to it now. Vale looked from Orex to the altar, and back again, unwilling to make the connection because of what it might mean. _The rain. The smell of damp earth. And the darkness that pervaded the moon and swallowed it whole, especially when they neared the ancient Temple of Freedon Nadd, where Revan once extended an offer she would ultimately refuse._

“We thought they were holocrons,” she heard herself say. It was as if she were faraway, outside of herself, looking upon the scene like a specter watching from above. “We sent them to Revan, for research.”

Saying Revan’s name aloud set her skin on fire. Vale was still managing her senses, which were all dialed to eleven and then some, but somehow the thought of Dxun brought her back - the thought of that dark temple looming in the heavy gloom of the jungle and the fear that seeped into the very soil surrounding it. Orex’s face softened, relieved to see her remembering, but his stance remained aggressive, and he ignored the staff still thrust in his face.

Asra was on her feet again, her face foggy as if having just woken up, scrunched up in confusion. “What is going on?”

Looking at the crystals upon the dais now, she could feel it, that same darkness, the invisible pull towards the unseen depths of the galaxy, towards what was so inherently feral and fearful about sentient life, everything that the Dark Side of the Force fed upon. No wonder she had a bad feeling about this.

“The war isn’t over, General. It never was.”

Asra mouthed the word ‘ _general_ ’ after Orex spoke, still confused.

Vale felt the heaviness of Dxun all around her, the rain pounding painfully into her flesh, water dripping into her eyes, the smell of damp, blood-soaked earth, and the many ghosts that still roamed those parts, reluctant to rest as war waged upon its surface once again, and as it always would. She sensed the same phantom ocean there, too, at the temple - she felt the same tempting spell beckoning her to abandon vigilance in favor of blind faith, to give herself over to the Darkness.

Orex’s expression faltered, and suddenly Vale remembered: a young man with bronzed skin and shoulder-length, sand-colored braids, and two good eyes, glinting silver in the gloom of Onderon’s jungle moon. Just as the image manifested in her mind, it was gone, and the older Orex took its place, but the memory of Dxun remained.

“You don’t understand, I don’t-” she pleaded, but Orex interrupted her, the past merging with the present.

“ _I know.”_ Orex assured.

“But, how-?”

Suddenly, she knew.

The stones upon the altar lived off of the Force, and it was eating away at whatever raw energy pulsed within the veins of those beside her, and all those who had come before - but Vale was mute to the Force. It did not affect her. Maybe this was why she was drawn to this place. Somehow, she had always known.

She looked to Orex, wondering what kind stake he had in all of this, before inching her way toward the shrine. The crystals called to her, sitting pretty and idle upon their pedestal. The soothing sounds of the phantom ocean swelled, lapping at the edges of her mind with an all too familiar sweetness, beckoning her closer to the crystal’s siren song. If the theory was right, Vale would be able to nullify whatever energies permeated these stones and quell whatever evil had sewn roots here. She glanced back at Orex, wondering how she hadn’t seen it sooner. His eyes were focused on her, his brow furrowed, as he stood at attention – but beneath his stare was that sense of silent fear she had come to see in all the soldiers that fought alongside her at Dxun. He must have heard about this place or happened upon it himself, and whatever life he had built after the war came crashing down. And here was Vale, standing before that very same darkness again as it pulled her back towards the death and decay that defined her so long ago on that haunted, jungle moon.

Vale returned her attention to the altar, her eyes creeping upward towards the climbing stalactites that pinpricked the cavern above. Unlike the rest of the rough-hewn stone and sand, this wall looked as if acid had trickled down a well over centuries, eating away at its façade in unnervingly unnatural patterns towards the crystals themselves. For a moment, she heard the whispers again, and she could swear that she felt a pair of eyes on her.

Asra watched on with wide eyes, looking from Vale to Orex and back again, completely speechless. Her hand was locked into the trigger of her blaster even though it remained in her holster, her fingers itching.

The crystals were brighter up close, and their substance even darker than she imagined from across the cavern. The holocrons they had discovered on Dxun were similar, but not nearly as crude. They were of the typical shape, pyramidal and dark, but these had uneven edges and they looked as if they came straight out of the earth. They, too, were pyramidal, but they were not evenly symmetrical. The surfaces were rough, marked by varying gradations of cleavage on each side, the pyramid’s apex standing as a cragged spire. _How long have these things been here?_

“Do you remember how we transported these?” Vale called back at Orex, not so much for her own benefit but to ensure that he knew what to do next as she tried to remember what name he went by back then.

“Glitch has the proper equipment,” Orex answered. Vale turned to look at the girl, who seemed to be holding her own now that the waves or the rain, or whatever she had heard, subsided. Darek was also on his feet again, though his face betrayed an unspoken discomfort. If Glitch had the equipment, and Darek was Orex’s right hand, then what about Asra? Had Darek convinced Orex to bring her along, or was she meant for something else?

Vale felt eyes on her again, and the feeling didn’t come from the expedition party. They watched on as she approached the shrine with caution, edging bones and bits away with her boot, but there was something … else. Her eyes darted about, scanning the other entrances to the cavern, but saw nothing. Perhaps it was the Darkness, or maybe…

Vale’s fingers extended as she reached the altar, her heart pounding in her chest. With her other hand, she tore her linen hood away from her shoulders, hoping she could suffer the Tatooine heat until they reached the crawler again. With a gentle hand, she enclosed the first crystal within the rough folds of her hood. She waited. Vale looked back at the others, and Orex nodded. His eyes were wide, waiting at the ready if something were to happen. 

There were too many questions to consider just now, but part of her knew that these things couldn’t stay here. Where she would send them, she did not know. As much as the Jedi despised her and what she had become in the aftermath of Malachor, they might be her only hope. She could send it to them anonymously, as a good Samaritan.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she plucked the second crystal from its place. Before she enfolded it, her eyes soaked in its surface, somehow bright with a fathomless darkness. Its crystalline edges glowed amber, but its heart was of the deepest black. Before she could ponder any further, she inhaled and wrapped it away.

There was room on the dias for a third crystal, but the space was eerily barren. Vale's eyes lingered, almost unable to pull away, drawn to the mystery of the missing holocron.

Vale turned to the others.

Glitch was already holding her pack open. It was a square canvas bag slung over her shoulder at first, but as she approached, Vale could tell that the material was more than that. This was military grade. It had the ability to cancel out certain energy fields and other devices, ideal for transporting mines and the like. Glitch stood motionless now, her dark hair veiling her eyes from view, her hand holding the pack open almost invitingly.

As Vale placed her carefully wrapped package into the pack, she saw a sea of spindly onyx spires – Glitch had been collecting trinkets. For what purpose, Vale would ask later, but at least she knew she wasn’t the only one to notice them.

Vale nodded once the package was secure to the best of her knowledge and Glitch closed the pack. With a careful arm, she maneuvered the second strap back over her shoulder and nodded in return.

“We should get out of here, as soon as we can.” Orex ordered, his voice still gruff but somehow softer than before.

Vale could swear she remembered his name for just a moment, before Asra beckoned her onward, too.

“Yeah, _General.”_

Hurt laced Asra’s voice, not disdain, though perhaps the two feelings were not exactly mutually exclusive. She said nothing, but her eyes asked ‘ _I thought I could trust you’._ Vale shot her a sympathetic look, promising to explain more later without words. Her eyes trailed over to Glitch’s back, lingering there as her hand absently touched Asra’s in comradery. Orex glanced at them with dark eyes, and Vale retracted her hand. _Since when did I go soft?_ Orex noticed, and perhaps he wondered the same thing. Soldiers tended to have a softness for one another, but Orex was still swallowing his sympathies.

Without speaking, they reconvened at the mouth of the cave. Darek’s face was contorted slightly, as if in anguish, and Vale could tell that he must still hear it, whether it was the whispers or the unseen ocean, or an eerie mixture of both. As for herself, she still thought of rain.

“Grab what you can on our way out of here. I don’t know if we’ll fetch anything for-“ Orex paused, looking at the others, his good eye lingering on Glitch’s pack as well, “Just make the most of it.”

Orex grunted as he finished his sentence, almost in affirmation of his own statement. Maybe it was more of a nervous tick than anything having to do with intimidation. They exchanged glances before moving onward, and Vale felt the Dxun rain again and its sharp pinpricks against her skin. She also felt eyes on her back as the party gathered and she took up the rear again, as old habits would have it. Vale squared her shoulders and held her palm steady over the shaft of her shock staff.

Vale hoped Orex knew where he was going, given that she did not recall how she had even found this chamber or where she and Asra had come from. Leading the party again, Orex held an emergency flare aloft to lead them out of the maze, seemingly aware of where they needed to go.

Their steps were tentative and slow, as if whatever was in Glitch’s pack might blow at any minute. Asra shot Vale concerned looks, but failed to say anything. She was wary, and Vale could not fault her for that. She had been secretive all this time for a reason. Maybe getting friendly now was a mistake.

Their collective boots crunched over the sand in unison as they filed out of the mysterious cave. Vale’s ears pricked for any sign of Malak or whatever the Darkness wanted to disguise itself as, but there was nothing and no one. Save for the feeling of eyes on her from the shadows.

Vale occasionally looked back, though found nothing. Before long, they reached the stairs they had entered through. The hairs on her neck alerted her to a separate presence again, to something lurking in the gloom. Once they had emerged into the sunlit hut, Vale stood watching at the entrance, waiting. Asra nudged her elbow, wondering, but Orex shot her a look that spoke of a similar feeling. He edged his chin upward, and Vale nodded in response.

“Grab what you can, but don’t linger. We leave immediately.”

Orex ducked out of the hut and Darek behind him. Asra shrugged as Glitch tested the weight of the pack at her back and bowed out from the doorway with ease. Vale froze. She was right. Her bad feeling had been right. As unsurprised as she was at the discovery, it was the details that unnerved her: the abandoned settlement out in the middle of the Dune Sea, the cultish artifacts, Malak’s voice and the fresh memory of their last meeting, the feeling of the Force trickling through her for the first time in, how many years was it now?

The Council had her connection severed, to minimize the “threat” she posed in the aftermath – as if Revan and Malak were beyond reproach. But, how could this be? Her senses had heightened upon entering the cave, and she knew exactly where Glitch’s cries had originated. She even heard Orex’s thoughts silently in her mind and somehow knew that her senses were right. And then there was that feeling of an electrical current thrumming just beneath her skin, intensifying as she approached the crystals, her fingers fumbling over what felt like a live battery.

And then there were the voices. Despite the heat, her skin suddenly grew cold. These ancient holocrons were living off of the rawness of the Living Force, silently feeding off of whoever had once lived here and anyone else that came after. Who knows how long these siphons had been sitting here idle, untouched? But they didn’t just feed, they relayed a message. _Inheritors of the Universe… undying Empire…_ The words rung clear, imprinted in her memory. Perhaps Revan’s ghost had a right to be here, and Vale had every reason to feel strange about this planet, this place. Orex had felt it, too.

Vale didn’t bother to power on her scanner, satisfied enough with what droid specs she managed to upload earlier. Instead, her eyes scanned the hut, noting where any remaining trinkets stood. It was all connected, somehow. She knew the Sith had cultured cults before, but they usually surrounded monolithic temples like the one on Dxun. A small town out in the middle of the desert was unheard of. Even the Sith-sacred Korriban was littered with monuments and tombs. Why this? Why here?

Orex was right, the war wasn’t over. Vale had known that for a long time. But whose war had they been fighting? And to what end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the length, but I have a feeling it will only get worse from here... I'll most likely end up editing this a bit in the future, but nothing major. I will say though, that the portrayal of holocrons is not the simple cut-and-dry variety we've seen in Star Wars canon so far, but it will be explained later. I'm just eager to finally post this chapter after months of working on this damn thing intermittently between dealing with real life stuff :) Hope you all enjoy!


	6. Recon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vale and her salvage crew discuss the aftermath of the Jedi Civil War and the Mandalorian Wars, delving into some of the mysteries surrounding the conflicts that inspired their inception in the first place.

_3951 BBY, Tatooine_

The sandcrawler sat unnervingly quiet as they neared it again, and there was no wind upon the surrounding sands. The twin suns beat down on them from above, leaving no room for shadows or shade, but Vale still felt cold.

Despite the unease taking root in the pit of her stomach and the unshakable feeling of being watched, she couldn’t keep her eyes from Glitch’s pack. Her fingers tingled still, as if she had just touched a damp hand to an active battery. It had been nine years since she last felt the Force.  _Nine years_. The ancient holocron feeders had nothing to feed off of her, and yet somehow being in their presence offered her a taste. But now, she was mute to it once more, so the crystals should have no effect on her since she had no Force to give them - though that didn't mean they couldn't goad her by feeding her promises laced with nightmares. They would be safe, for now, in the munitions pack. It worked before.

She wondered how the others felt. Back on Dxun, none of them were immune. Asra, Darek, Orex and Glitch must be exhausted, though Glitch, the smallest of them, looked all the worse for it. Vale had no awareness of time as it passed in the cavern, so she had no idea how long the crystals fed off her crew before she was able to secure them.

When they found the other artifacts on Dxun years ago, a mere touch of the crystal had sent her reeling through what felt like time and space – just as it had now, only worse, feeding off her ability to channel the Force. Her troops had all felt it too, seen and heard things they could not explain. A few of her soldiers hadn’t made it, offering up their raw life force to the unseen demands of the crystals at Freedon Nadd’s temple in exchange for the information it promised. She felt that same sensation back then as well, that same out-of-body deliverance and suspension of disbelief, but she broke the spell and gathered the crystals without corruption. Malak said it was because of her Force Bond ability, but Vale was never certain.

But still, those ancient holocrons sent a ghost of the Force trickling through her before retracting today, as if whatever energies hungered in those crystals sensed the wound within her, tasting the lingering death that remained, and decided to leave her be. But she had felt it again, the Force, for just a moment. Fleeting and unsettling.

As before, a gentle hand on her shoulder brought her out of her thoughts, and Vale found Asra at her side. The hurt was evident in her eyes, but there was also concern.

“You’ll tell me, I know.” Asra smiled softly, the corners of her mouth barely turning upward as she predicted her thoughts somewhat bitterly. Vale would explain everything on the crawler, once they got moving.

Vale’s mind raced. She barely remembered putting her gear away or staring out at the sand dunes until the treads were up and running again. They would be back in Anchorhead in a few days, sooner if they hurried. Vale thought Orex might be growing restless.

At the thought of what would happen next to the holocrons, crystals, whatever the hell they really were, Vale made her way to the makeshift kitchen to fix herself a drink. Orex was already there.

“Going by Vale these days, huh?”

Orex was sitting at the improvised kitchen table, a tumbler of clear liquid held firmly in his hand. Vale wondered if the man ever ate. Another glass was set out on the table, next to a bottle of what Vale often overheard Asra consider “the good stuff”.

“Only lately.”

Vale sidled up across from him and looked him square in the face.

“Comes with the territory,” he said.

“What sort of territory are we talking about here, exactly?”

“You know you’re not the only one. So many of us were, uh, _displaced_ after the war,” Orex chose his words carefully, ruminating on a great many things. Vale hadn’t figured he was a man for talking. The evidence was imminent.

“Homes destroyed and conveniently unrestored, unfavorable leaders not worth following, take your pick.”

Vale watched him as she poured herself a drink. Was he talking about her, specifically, or the lot of them? She knew she wasn’t the only one, but it was unnerving to have spent so much time with someone she no longer recognized, especially since Orex had apparently known her from the start.

“You can say that again.”

Orex lifted his half-drunk cup, and Vale toasted before downing her entire glass.

“Do you remember it at all, Serroco?” Orex asked.

“The place or the battle?” Vale inquired, feeling the fire of alcohol in every wisp of her exhaling breath as she spoke.

Orex chuckled, the lines in his face growing light as the underlying muscles pulled them taut. Vale wondered whether he was at Malachor, boots on the ground and all, but figured the man might need a few more drinks before broaching _that_ subject, speaking from experience.

"Before the war, I mean," he clarified, an unusual softness still apparent in his features.

“It’s cute that you remember, really,” Vale started, sincere, “I still remember my mother, the home she had there. That was back when the Council wasn’t such a hardass about keeping emotional ties. Hell, they still let families attend knighting ceremonies back then. But my mother… she was there when we first arrived. She was the first friendly face I had seen in a long, _long_ while.”

Vale’s skin prickled at the memory of her mother. After living in the Outer Rim, Naara Valen had returned to her homeplanet of Serroco once Vale and her twin brother were taken to the Jedi on Dantooine. Without her children, Naara returned to support her own struggling parents. She remembered receiving the holo her mother had sent when they both passed away during the early days of the war, and how Aiden had cried at the news. _Aiden_. The war was already raging, and her mother joined the ragtag effort keeping the Mandalorians at bay. She remembered seeing her out on the field and how they ran towards one another once their eyes had met, seeking each other out as if they already knew the other was there. The warmth of her mother stayed her and reminded her that her decision to go against the Council’s wishes was well worth it. Naara had asked about Aiden, asked whether her son was alright. Vale hadn’t the heart to tell her that he did not support the Jedi involvement in the conflict, nor did he support her leaving. She didn’t tell her mother that he’d rather study ancient holocrons in a quiet library behind safe, secure walls instead, living in an alternate reality where pain and suffering could be closed out by an indomitable will to simply ignore it. Vale still wondered how he could even call himself a Jedi, but he hadn't been the only one…

Vale hadn’t thought about her family in a long while. Orex must not have felt much different, nor anyone else displaced out on the Rim, looking for somewhere else to belong. Those were the kinds of memories that you kept hidden but somehow knew kept you going, even if they were difficult to think back on.

“I grew up on Telos,” Orex admitted, “but it’s not the same. I’ve been to Citadel Station a couple of times, for credits mostly, but… there’s something about being out here that makes more sense to me. I figure the same goes for you.”

Vale nodded, “Though, I have to admit, it’s not like I had a choice.”

She tapped her empty tumbler pointedly on the workbench-turned-table, watching as the final rays of daylight played against the rough of her glass.

“I heard about what happened. About what the Jedi did to you. It was hard not to, since Darth-“ Orex stopped himself, took a sip, and course corrected in reference to a slightly different iteration of the same man, “It was hard not to hear about you, working under Captain Malak.”

“Oh?”

Vale took it upon herself to pour another drink. If Orex wanted to talk about Malak, she’d need to take the edge off – and that’s not to say that there wasn’t enough of an edge to her mood already.

“Sore subject,” Orex observed, watching her pour. Vale responded without words, lifting her eyebrows as she let out a long breath. There were few things that set her on edge these days, but being reminded of Malak, and her disloyal brother Aiden, were two of them.

“I didn’t follow him for very long. I hadn’t chosen to, either. I was loyal to you. To Revan.”

“She’s a tough act to follow,” Vale muttered in agreement, hoping the alcohol would quickly calm her nerves. As shaken as she was about what had just transpired, talk of Malak never sat well with her more than most things and she was eager to change the subject.

“How much do you know?” Orex asked, his voice gruff like a rough whisper.

“About?”

“What happened after.”

Vale shook her head, recounting the facts in silence before speaking evenly.

“When I left the Order, I left Republic Space. As much as I wanted to disappear, it was hard not to get swept up in the chaos, the aftermath. I helped in the forgotten relief efforts, but talk of _the Sith Lords_ was on everyone’s mouths,” Vale responded almost mockingly, “I heard about Malak’s betrayal, about Revan saving the Republic or whatever the hell it was she did, but I was always fuzzy on those details.”

Orex grunted again.

“I don’t think you’re alone in that. I don’t buy whatever bull the Republic said about that ordeal, or the Jedi. It all seemed too… _convenient,_ ” Orex savored the word, enunciating slowly as if deliberating the sound of each syllable.

Vale nodded in agreement. Nothing aligned with what she knew of Revan, even despite the rumors of her Jedi persuasion, however that happened.

“They thought _I_ was a threat. The Jedi.” Vale almost laughed, her eyes losing their focus as her mind drifted faraway for a moment, contemplating the contents of her glass. “I warned them about Malak, about Revan, after Malachor. But all they felt was death. They didn’t care about what I had to say.”

Orex’s good eye narrowed as he took in her words.

“How could they know, they weren’t there,” he said in an aggravated breath.

“Ironic, though.” Vale sighed before taking another sip. “So, what made you leave?”

Orex downed the contents of his cup and sat back, examining his empty glass.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Orex said, referring to Malak she guessed.

He watched her for a breath, taking in her expression and thinking something over in his mind before speaking again. “I’m not sure how much you hear these days, whether by choice or otherwise, but she’s gone. A few years now, I think.”

“Revan?”

There were always whispers of Revan, so overhearing a conversation peppered with her name was nothing new. Vale’s subconscious learned to filter out the sound of her name, and her ears no longer perked up at the mention – at least, not nearly as much as they used to. In the aftermath of Malak’s betrayal, rumors were abound as to the fate of the Dark Lord. Many doubted she could be bested so easily, whereas others applauded Malak’s swift action. Despite their admiration, many still hoped it was the beginning of the end, a telling turn of events that predicted Malak’s eventual self-destruction – which, in a way, it had been. Then their whole Sith charade would be done with. Vale was always curious, but second-hand opinions grew tiresome, especially when so many of the spacers she overheard got it all wrong. Very few were on-the-nose, specifically the opinions of those who worked under either Jedi at one point, whether they were Outer Rim recruits, Republic soldiers without homes to return to, or disgruntled deserting Sith. But even hearing those stories left a bad taste in her mouth.

Revan going rogue wasn’t unexpected.

“The question is, what _haven’t_ I heard,” Vale laughed darkly. Orex nodded in understanding.

“But that’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of Revan?”

Vale steadied herself, nodding, and took a moment to choose her words.

“I feel Revan everywhere, it's like I'm chasing her damn ghost," Vale laughed, "But I knew there was more to it. None of what I heard about Revan made any sense. If Revan disappeared, it’s because she forgot something, or had some unfinished business. I don’t know what happened with the Jedi, exactly, but I don’t think they were privy to what she was up to, either.”

“Revan was here. I know it. But something kept her from coming back,” Orex said, taking a deep breath before continuing, “There were others, you know, other holocrons, other artifacts. All Sith. All ancient. On Malachor.”

“On Malachor?”

Orex smiled, but it was anything but kind. “You were there, but you weren’t really there. There was a structure on its surface, not far from where we were fighting, older than anything I’ve ever seen.” Orex flinched momentarily, making a face as if he had just swallowed something unpleasant. “I only saw it from a distance, but I felt it. The ocean.”

Vale felt her skin grow cold.

"That might be why I-" Vale started before stopping herself. At Malachor, the Force had begun to ebb away from her, as if it were fleeing, desperate to be rid of the death that surrounded her. If there were other dark artifacts housed on the moon's surface, who knows what consequences that could have? She shook her head, still unsure, and Orex continued.

“You knew there was more she wasn’t telling us, what she wasn’t telling _you_.”

 Vale nodded, unable to speak.

“I don’t think Revan accounted for there to be as many survivors as there were from Malachor. My transport was mid-flight when it hit.”

“The Mass Shadow Generator,” Vale said, her voice hollow and ragged.

“Thanks to your warning, General, my squad was able to get away as far as we could.”

The memory of giving the order was almost like a dream, but at Orex’s words she briefly recalled a moment where she ordered her troops to fall back. It was already too late for most of them.

“So that’s where all this _General_ business is coming from.”

Orex looked up and Vale swung around to find Asra in the doorway, her face solemn.

"I knew something was up about you," she continued, attempting to be lighthearted, "But I never figured you were a  _Jedi_."

" _Ex-_ Jedi."

"Is it ... more of a title? Or a state of being?" Coming out of anyone else's mouth, Vale might have accused them of being sarcastic, but she knew Asra was curious by the clumsy but careful way she chose her words.

"It's a bit of both. But Jedi or not, I can't command the Force. Not any more."

“I had no idea that was even a thing,” the Togruta muttered, not pushing the subject further. She shook her head slowly, her striped head-tails moving gently across her shoulders.

“I didn’t expect you to,” Vale started, “Not that-“

“I know,” Asra nodded, understanding, “I wouldn’t want to remember something like that, either.”

Asra snatched a rugged cup from the bench beside her and took a seat next to Vale, serving herself a drink before she spoke again.

“I didn’t think holocrons did that sort of thing, either,” Asra admitted. She must have been listening from the doorway for some time. “I thought they were just recordings.”

“They are, mostly,” Vale explained, “but Sith holocrons tend to have a corrupting nature, as well. The ones we found were, uh,  _particularly_ dark.”

Orex nodded in affirmation.

“These holocrons were not just meant to relay information, but to recondition anyone who might come across them. Bend them to their will.” Vale inhaled and looked at Orex straight in the eye as she continued. “Which is why I regret not destroying those holocrons in the first place.”

Orex regarded her, his eye narrowing.

“So why didn’t you destroy these?”

Vale didn’t have an answer, but after a moment she began speaking as she helped herself to another drink.

“I used to have this theory, that whatever we found on Dxun was responsible for-“ Vale almost choked on her own words, “For Revan and Malak’s  _change_ _of heart,_ so to speak.”

Asra cocked an eyebrow, leaning closer, curious.

“I’m not as sure about Revan, but towards the end of the war, Malak changed. More than the rest of us.” Vale silently acknowledged the darkness that had crept into her in those days, with all the death and bloodshed, a feeling that Orex and other soldiers surely shared. “I couldn’t have been the only one who noticed how _different_ they felt when they proposed their plan of attack, when they told us all about Malachor.”

“I always assumed you knew,” Orex admitted, “You were one of them.”

“Yeah, I thought so, too.” Vale said bitterly. “They told me nothing. They entrusted me with everything in their stead, but they never told me what it was they actually _did_ out there.”

“Out there?” Asra asked.

“Towards the end of the war, Revan and Malak left for the Unknown Regions, _presumably_ on a hunch to find some Mandalorian weakness. Or so they told me,” Vale said, and Orex nodded in concurrence. Vale must have been fed the same lie the rest of their soldiers had, dare she ever consider herself worthy of either Jedi’s trust. Pushing her bitterness aside, she continued.

“They took longer than expected, _way_ longer. And Malak snapped at me when I asked about what happened.” Vale grimaced at the memory, “Revan told me not to worry, and she gave me a ship to shut me up.”

“ _The Ravager_ ,” Orex said. Vale nodded.

“I thought that if we could end the war, here and now, that my questions wouldn’t matter. That it would all be over.”

“And here we are,” Orex said.

“ _Here we are_ ,” Vale repeated, almost mockingly.

“I felt it, too.” Orex admitted, “I came here for a price on some deadbeat’s head, but I felt something the moment my transport landed in Anchorhead."

“Did you feel it on the descent?” Vale asked. Orex nodded. “This must have been it, this site. Whatever the hell that was, by the way.”

"Bandits used to bait hapless treasure hunters out there, knowing they wouldn't come back. But I had a bad feeling about it from the start."

“So you’re only slightly less clueless than I am?” Asra chimed in, sounding grim. “Have you seen anything else? In your, uh, _travels_ , I mean?”

Vale and Orex shook their heads in unison, their eyes meeting briefly. As guilty as she felt for not recognizing him, she was glad he was here. Some part of her almost felt proud, that someone who once fought beside her was still on the same page as her, after all these years.

“I have.”

Another voice from the doorway garnered their attention. This time, Darek stood before them, having listened in until now.

Vale cocked an eyebrow, and before Darek could take a step further into the room, he replied, “Neo-Crusader.”

Vale exchanged looks with Asra before looking at Orex, wondering what a Republic refugee, a veteran, was doing hanging around an ex-Mandalorian.

“It wasn’t necessarily a choice I wanted to make, but I made it.” Darek said, knowing exactly what Vale was thinking.

The Mandalorians had burned the planet Iridonia to ash and enslaved their people, but like most other groups of unfortunates the Mandalorians terrorized, there was always room for promotion this time around. Once upon a time, only the Taung people were considered true Mandalorians, but something convinced Mandalore the Ultimate to rehash the Crusader traditions to potentially include conquered peoples who could be shaped to fight for the Mandalorian cause. Hence the existence of people like Darek.

Vale shook her head, watching his unsure expression, “I think I get it.”

“Do you?” Darek asked, almost amused. Like the rest of them, he poured himself a glass, but only after taking a swig straight from the bottle itself.  Vale nodded feebly, unable to find the right words. She didn’t _quite_ understand, but she didn’t hold a grudge or anything, unable to articulate her thoughts on the matter.

Like Orex, she understood both sides. Once escaping to the Outer Rim, there wasn’t room for animosity, especially since most veterans were deserting one side or another, though most called it “escaping”. And for the same reason too, mostly. Disillusionment, disappointment, depression. The war weighed heavily on all of them. The Outer Rim was unlike Republic Space, or so she heard. In the Core Worlds or among the Mandalorian clans, loyalty still ran thick, but out where the war _really_ happened, the wounds were still festering. Mercenary crews were not unlike the ragtag group gathered before Vale now, a mixture of Republic, Mandalorian, and miscellaneous. It was not an unusual combination, but given what Vale and Orex both saw at Dxun, she wondered what Darek brought to the table. The only thing that made Mandalorians like Darek different was that there were fewer of them. For the most part, even converted Mandalorians were loyal for life or otherwise preferred death.

Darek shook his head, gritting his teeth against the sharp taste of the alcohol.

“Doesn’t matter, really, does it?” he laughed darkly.

Asra reached up and absently rubbed his elbow apologetically. Vale looked to Orex, but the man seemed unsurprised. Whatever softness lingered between the two was not news to him. They had been careful and subtle before, but given the conversation, though, Vale couldn’t blame them.

“Did you feel it, too?” she asked after a long moment, her voice softer than she intended.

Darek glanced appreciatively at Asra before nodding in Vale’s direction.

“Dxun, same as you.”

“What did the Mandalorians make of that place?”

“Mandalore the Ultimate made it his stronghold at the start of the war. No one questioned it, or dared not to, at least. But I overheard the few questions that some soldiers _did_ ask.” Darek stared off into space, his focus fixed on some unknown point in the past, “That place was, I don’t know, _dark_. I thought it was just me, at first, a new recruit taken from a burning village afraid to forget his family and accept a new one. But it wasn’t just me. There were ghosts all over that damn moon. So many of the other new recruits feared the old stories of the Sith temple there, though the true Mandalorians feigned bravery. It was more evident when we weren’t all in full gear.”

Mandalorians were also notorious for their distinctive armor. It was rare to see a warrior unmasked, which was part of why Revan adopted the mutilated helmet of a defecting Mandalorian soldier as her own. To distort the symbol, twisting it to suit her needs.

“Ever heard of Rohlan Dyre?”

It took a moment for Vale to register his words, let alone the fact that it was a name at first.

“Rohlan Dyre, _Rohlan Dyre,_ ” Vale repeated, flashes of memory returning as she rolled the name around her tongue. It was near impossible to escape remnants of the war and instances that could inspire flashes of images, names, sounds, faces, half-forgotten recollections, but after years of putting bad memories aside it was still difficult dredging them up again.

“Infamous deserter?” she asked finally, recalling talk of a veteran who repeatedly tried leaving the Mandalorians but couldn’t. “He was at the Battle of Vanquo.”

Darek nodded in affirmation.

“Dyre was one of the older veterans, well-regarded for his skill and experience, but for his honor, mostly.” Darek replied, “And honor was something he found seldom amongst the Mandalorians in those days.”

“Did he know about the holocrons?”

Darek shook his head, though he did not seem entirely sure, “Dyre didn’t trust the war. He didn’t trust Mandalore. His motives went against tradition, it had no honor.”

Vale and Asra were both at attention. Vale hadn’t felt this interested in politics in practically forever.

“Mandalorians used to pick fights only when necessary. There was an honor system, a code. They only fought when provoked, or over land disputes, I’m not entirely sure. But picking on defenseless colonies on the Outer Rim? It was against everything they believed in.”

Darek’s face scrunched up, hesitant, as if he knew he weren’t the authority to demand answers of, but was trying his best regardless.

“Not only that, but they went about it all the wrong way. We were taught differently, the Neo-Crusaders, we were a new breed with no ties to tradition. Dyre probably believed that was the whole purpose behind the Neo-Crusader movement to begin with. As the older warriors put it, the Manda prefer a more direct approach. They were pragmatic, not treacherous. They wouldn’t go looking for a fight. They only _accepted_ fights that they deemed worthy, that posed a real challenge.”

“And the Outer Rim colonies were no match for them, there _was_ no challenge,” Vale said, wondering.

“ _Exactly.”_

Vale shook her head, putting the pieces together. Her skin grew cold as the memories rushed back in fragments, arranging and rearranging into something that began to make sense.

“Revan knew there was more to this war, she saw it. Through the Force. She had a vision the day she found that mask, the day-“

 _The day I pledged myself to her cause_.

She was just seventeen.  Malak was still known as Alek back then. He had heard about her, or her bad luck perhaps. After a string of Masters left her at the Academy, she had been assigned to work the archives with her brother and Master Atris. But in her spare time, she devoted every fiber of her being and every other waking moment to lightsaber training. It helped ease the tension, and it gave her an excuse to see Kavar before he was called to his seat on the Council. Everyone knew about Alek and Revan, had heard rumors of their adventures, and she was taken aback when she noticed Alek watching her practice from the back of the training hall. He was impossibly tall, and built like a brick wall to boot. He had hair back then, jet black, which made his icy blue eyes all the more piercing. He was impressed with her, but told her that Revan was even more so, and that she was interested in her infamous affinity for Force bonds, even if it felt more like a curse. He implored her to accompany him, to see the front lines for herself. _“We could use a tenacious fighter like you,”_ he had said, smirking at her, _“We ragtag group of misfits.”_ He laughed his charming laugh, convincing her that he understood, that the Council feared and distrusted him just as much as they did her. Finding only frustration with the Council, and finding herself a little weak-kneed in Alek’s presence, she agreed. She witnessed the genocide at Cathar, she felt those first wounds in the Force tearing through her and making itself comfortable - and she remembered Revan falling to her knees, her eyes rolling back in her head as she writhed in the shallow water of the ocean that swallowed the planets people, the mutilated Mandalorian mask held firmly in her hand as a sliver of the truth revealed itself to Revan and Revan alone.

Within the span of a moment, a whole lifetime replayed itself in her mind’s eye, but Vale snapped herself back to the present when she noticed the others were watching her expectantly.

“But they didn’t tell you,” Orex said, his voice dark with disappointment and something that sounded like sympathy.

Vale shook her head.

“I had my theories, but I knew nothing. I _know_ nothing.”

Bitterness rose like bile in her throat again, and this time Asra’s hand found its way to her forearm, settling her.

“But Malachor-“

“If you don’t know where it is, then we’re just as lost as you are.”

Not that Vale ever expected to return. Malachor was a well-kept secret. Only a select few knew the coordinates, they were absolutely "need-to-know". The Republic wasn’t even supposed to know, none of them were. Revan was the only one allowed to give clearance, and she was the only one who sent the coordinates when needed. The Mandalorians knew, sure, but they were not quick to let the rest of the galaxy know what happened there or what Malachor meant to them. It was only afterward that Vale realized that Revan did not want to be followed either, that she did not want anyone rifling through the ruins and looking for evidence of her corruption, of what drew her to the Dark Side.

“I was honestly hoping you’d know what to do,” Orex admitted, “When I saw you on Anchorhead, I had to be sure. Malak painted some nasty pictures, but like the rest of them Jedi, I wasn’t sure what kind of ilk you’d become just yet.”

Vale laughed at the way the man said “ilk” but shuddered at the thought of what Malak might have said about her.

“You wanted to make sure I hadn’t gone _rogue.”_

“Malak and Revan were dark, but in different ways. You know that, but the rest of us could feel it, too. I had to be sure you weren’t one of them.”

“But you knew I had no connection to the Force?” Vale asked. Orex only laughed.

“I don’t know how that shit works, sister. Malak bragged about it, as if it made him stronger, somehow. But I knew how you were at the end of the war. How we all were.”

Vale had always blamed Dxun. Not only was the moon heavy with death already, but they inspired their own fair share of bloodshed well before they ever set foot there. That kind of brutal combat would change anyone, including Vale and her soldiers. After what she’d seen, she was thoroughly unsurprised to hear just how many had followed Revan and Malak into Darkness as obedient Sith. It would have made sense if she had, as well.

“And once you figured I was honest, you just hoped I knew what the hell to do,” Vale assumed.

“That was the idea,” Orex pursed his lips, examining his empty cup, ruminating.

“So Revan’s missing, the Jedi are nearly wiped out or in hiding… where does that leave us?” Vale probed hypothetically, not expecting an answer.

“Revan going missing can’t be a coincidence. At least I don’t think so,” Vale continued, thinking back to every thought that had run through her head over the last nine years. Everything felt so unfinished, so unresolved. Not only was she lacking closure with all those she once held dear, but the war never felt _over_. She always chalked it up to being an ex-soldier, but after hearing Orex say it she began to second-guess herself. She was swimming in a sea abundant with questions but lacking any real answers.

“That still doesn’t help us, any.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Orex replied.

“What happened to the Jedi?” Asra asked, her voice quiet and probing, almost afraid.

“I’ve only heard rumors. A gathering gone wrong,” Darek said.

“They called a conclave,” Vale began, recalling the first bit of information that had piqued her interest in years, at least since Revan’s disappearance, and it didn't bode well, “The Jedi were to gather on Katarr to discuss the future of the Order, but the entire planet was destroyed.  _Consumed_ , more rather. Nothing survived. Not just no one, _nothing._ ”

Vale grimaced at the thought. She relied mostly on word-of-mouth, as unreliable as it was, since her exile. Despite her hacking skills, she stayed away from the holonet when she could afford to. At first, it was out of spite. She didn't want to hear about Revan and Malak terrorizing the galaxy after she had expressly warned the Jedi about them. And after, it was to save herself from the pain. Revan was one thing, but watching Malak descend further and further into madness was like reliving a nightmare in real-time. It felt like a dream when she heard he had defeated Revan, though Vale never believed it. She briefly followed the news detailing Malak's defeat, but his death still felt too faraway, too unreal. The man she knew had died long ago, but despite it all, nothing felt  _right_. So she ignored reports about the Republic when she could. Best to spare herself the heartache by avoiding it. She heard rumors here and there, like when Revan went missing, but when she heard that the Jedi had been massacred... she didn't know what to do with herself.

Everyone she had ever known, looked up to, idolized once - gone. But not just that. They were very deliberately obliterated. This was not the end of the Jedi, but the beginning of something else, something far darker than she could imagine.

But what else could a non-Force user do? She continued aiding in relief efforts across the Outer Rim, but it wasn't until she landed in Anchorhead that she decided to stick around for a while. It was not long after the news, and the feeling that haunted her upon her arrival told her that something was about to happen, that everything was connected, that it would all make sense. She chalked it up to wishful thinking - the Force couldn't speak to her any more, she only had to answer to herself.

"Consumed?" Asra repeated, confused. "What sort of thing can do that?"

Her voice was soft, as if raising her question would draw the attention of the answer that awaited her. Orex and Vale exchanged glances.

"You don't think-?" she started, almost afraid of the words. 

"The Mass Shadow Generator?" Orex asked, needing no clarification. He shook his head, uncertain.

"Another one perhaps, something similar," Vale pondered. "Something, or some _one_."

"You don't think it's the Sith, do you?" Darek asked.

Vale didn't know how to respond. The remains of Malak's Sith Empire must have had survivors, and what other group of fanatics would seek such revenge on the Jedi would go as far as to wipe them out?

Vale only had partial information to work with, and the back-and-forth of the conversation wasn't helping them reach any conclusions.

"There's something else at work here," Vale began, "Whether Sith or Jedi, both factions have always believed that there are no such thing as coincidences, the Force guides everything. With the war, Revan's turn and redemption, her disappearance, the destruction of the Jedi... I can't tell if Revan is behind it all or if she left in search of something having to do with it."

"And someone took her leaving as a cue to strike?" Orex asked.

"Maybe," Vale shook her head, unable to make sense of it all.

“There has to be someone left. _Anyone,_ ” she said again after a beat of silence. They all sat in contemplation for a while, muttering half-baked ideas and tossing unfounded theories to the wind as they all tried not to think of the contents of their cargo, before they noticed that the treads beneath them were slowing.

Asra was the first to stir, but before she could say anything, Glitch appeared at the doorway this time.

“We’re being flagged down.”

“What? And you stopped for them?!” Orex stood abruptly, distressing the table as he hastily rose to his feet.

Glitch shrugged.

Vale rose and looked out the porthole, spying another sandcrawler beside them. How they failed to notice the looming shadow against the setting suns, she wasn’t sure. She knew none of them were actually _afraid_ of Jawa, if they were inquiring as to where they got the crawler, but something told her there was something more to this, and that maybe some of their questions might be answered.

Or so she hoped.

"I have a bad feeling about this. About  _all_ of this," Asra groaned, placing her cup back on the table before picking it up again and fidgeting between taking sips and deciding what to do with herself.

Vale bit her lip and looked out at the desert again, almost hoping for ghosts to appear on the dunes, waiting for a whisper of the Force, something to bring her closer to any sort of certainty, _anything._ Vale had always known this wasn't over, but now she wondered just what kind of mess Revan left behind.


	7. The Quiet Before the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> General Eden Valen's information has leaked, falling into the hands of bounty hunters, slavers and Republic Agents alike. As Vale and her crew plot their next move, there are already other forces at work threatening their slim chances at success.

_3951 BBY, Coruscant_

Rell’s eyes began to blur as she scanned pages upon pages of the holonet, tracking several covert forums while listening in on hacked communications – multitasking at her best. She blinked several times in quick succession, cracked her knuckles, and looked over at the row of intelligence officers beside her. They all had that same slack-jawed look about them as their attentive eyes scanned other corners of the holonet, their fingers typing away at commands, controlling remote consoles or looking into any number of leads the Republic was currently tracking.

She exhaled into a yawn before twisting her aching torso in her chair, pleased at the satisfying crack her back made when she turned. Only a few more hours and her shift would be over. Rell cracked her neck and stretched her arms once more before diving head-first into a forum linked to a notorious human trafficking ring orbiting Nar Shaddaa.

There was a certain level of compartmentalization at work as her eyes read queries about “restocked inventory” and “fresh meat”, trying to focus on code words and phrases they were given every few days, and sometimes every few hours, that told them a deal was about to be made. The code words helped her sleep at night, but she knew what they really meant. Despite the distance she kept, she still shivered when she got a lead, resisting the urge to retch when something particularly unsavory crossed her screen. Luckily for her, most of the images ever posted were basic ID photos or mugshots, nothing too graphic – though the “product descriptions” never made for a pleasant read. Whenever a new face came across her dashboard, she flagged and tagged it, and sent it to another department to register and cross-reference with surveillance or security footage. She was doing good work, she reminded herself, but she tried not to wonder just how many faces and files were eventually sent to cold-case…

Most of the faces today cycled from her previous shift, and she tried not to look any of them in the eye, lest she get too attached or too worried. None of them were familiar, though her console told her that most of these files had already been reported by her previously… except for one.

She almost scrolled right past it. It was buried in a message thread about new bounties – and unlike most postings, this one had replies from all over the damn galaxy. Usually, posts about a particular “item” remained within the same sector, or a system at most. Human trafficking was a dark business, but those who ran the rings new that travelling too far ran too many risks. This particular post didn’t have an inordinate amount of responses because it was posted not long ago, but the fact that they were from all over made her chest feel heavy.

Rell scrolled through the responses. Unsavory bounties, usually put on the head of a criminal who didn’t follow through for a crime syndicate were sold into slavery or worse for their “crimes”. Criminals were vindictive, and especially so when _they_ were the on the foul end of a deal-gone-wrong or purposefully-sideways. Punishment for rogue criminals was far worse than what the Republic would do if they were intercepted. Life in prison was always favorable to most any punishment a crime lord could dream up. But this bounty was… different.

The woman’s face was almost familiar to Rell, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. She scrolled through the responses in search of a common interest. Human women were fairly popular among slave traffickers, but why was this one drawing such diverse attention?

Once she read further, she knew why.

“No _fracking_ way,” she breathed involuntarily as the words registered in her mind as if echoing. _A Jedi._

Suddenly coursing with adrenaline, her fingers typed furiously in search of more information, looking for the link, the source of the leak. She almost stopped breathing all together…

Rell stared blankly at the screen, the mysterious Jedi’s full profile accessed before her unblinking eyes.

It took her a few moments to think straight. She opened the dialogue box that allowed her to send files to the next department, but found that she wasn’t even sure which department it should go to.

Instead, she uploaded the information to her datapad, threw her headset down at her desk and walked briskly out of the intelligence offices despite the confused stares of her colleagues. She rushed to the main elevators and took it straight to the navy yard, hoping he’d be there.

The rest was almost a blur, her blood thrumming in her veins as she brandished her datapad before the deck officer in desperation.

“But I _need_ to talk to Admiral Onasi _immediately!_ ” Rell pleaded, her hand white-knuckling her datapad.

The man was so rattled he didn’t even know what to say anymore, “Agent Amara, I know you’re frustrated but Admiral Onasi is-“

“Right here,” someone finished.

They both spun around to find the veteran now standing beside them, looking tired in his navy fatigues.

Rell almost mauled the man down as she flourished her datapad again, but Admiral Onasi lifted a weary hand, stopping her in her tracks.

“Agent Amara, is it?” he asked, the exhaustion evident in his eyes, “What is this about?”

Rell fell back into habit at Admiral Onasi’s words, stopping and saluting, then stating her name and station before continuing.

“Sir,” she inhaled deeply, “This is about General Eden Valen.”

 

* * *

 

_3951 BBY, Telos IV_

_For now you will forget me._

Brianna swore that she felt the bitter wind nip at her nose before she awoke in her chambers, alone. Her bedthings were askew, a pillow haphazardly at her feet and her legs tangled in her blanket.

She threw her covers off before examining her fingers, still raw with the cold.

Her dream felt so _real_ , more real than any in recent memory. Brianna had the misfortune of experiencing vivid dreams all too often. She had once believed them to be prophetic but was soon dissuaded by the unrelenting doubt of her sisters, and the slow persuasion of her Mistress. She resigned her delusions and paid her dreams no more mind, and yet, this one felt different. It felt more like a memory and its weight carried over into waking life. It was not odd for Brianna to find herself plagued with the thought of bad dreams upon waking, as would anyone else. Nightmares tended to dictate some portion of the day that would follow, but often in sentiment and not in physical feeling. Brianna felt her feet and found that her toes were ice. Her extremities were freezing, as if she had just come out of the bitter cold.

She emerged from her bed and walked over to her refresher with purpose, kicking her blanket free from her foot as she approached. Her cheeks were red in the mirror, almost bloody in comparison to her porcelain complexion and stark white hair. She stood there, hands cradling her face, as she pieced the vividness of her dream together.

The beginning was muddled. She knew it began with brief images of Atris, the Academy, her father and the imagined face of her dead mother. The rest was where it became clearer… she, Arianna and Orenna were scouting the mountain – which was decidedly odd as they _never_ scouted the mountain, there was never any need. And yet, the three of five Echani sisters explored the mountaintop in search of something, dressed their traditional white attire, becoming one with the falling snow. The air had stilled, falling frozen around her, before Brianna recalled a figure in the fallen flurry, with a face she could almost remember until it all faded, and the last Brianna recalled was the cold sweat of her forehead as she shot out of bed.

Taking a deep breath, Brianna looked at herself one last time before dressing, mentally ridding her mind of the notion that her dreams could have any implication other than that she was different, that she was _other_ , and that she did not belong.

She emerged from her chambers to find her sisters already congregated at the center table, eating in silence. Their eyes lifted in unison, surveying their youngest sister and lingering over the redness of her cheeks before returning to their morning meal. Brianna nodded at them, smiled, though only two of them returned the gesture. A small victory.

Without thinking, she watched Arianna and Orenna as she ate, looking out for signs of redness, any indication that they had been out in the cold. But they were as still and silent as the others, rendered quiet by discipline and their Mistress’s strict schedule.

Brianna was the last to finish her meal, but her sisters voiced no qualm. They were trained not to. Instead, she saw their impatience in their eyes.

She scarfed down the final bites of her meager breakfast, all part of their disciplinary lifestyle, before she pushed her plate away and stood with the rest of her sisters in unison. Without a word, they left the common room and filed into the training hall. Brianna noticed that she left her room’s door ajar, mentally berating herself for being so careless. Being the last in line, as always, Brianna slipped back to close her door before her sisters could notice – only to find Master Atris waiting for her.

“Ah- _Mistress!_ ” Brianna gasped. Atris had not been standing there as they rose from the table, and she wondered when her Mistress had slipped into the room. Atris had command of the Force, and though she and her sisters were well-versed in ways to resist its powers, she knew there was more to the Force than she was ready to understand.

“I’m sorry Brianna, but I wished to speak with you alone,” Atris said, her voice soft and sweet, almost uncharacteristically so.

“Bri-?“ she said, surprised, unused to Mistress referring to her by name.

“ _Brianna,_ ” Atris said again, smiling.

Brianna returned the smile, but was unsure of how genuine it appeared. Fear swelled in her chest and she wondered if it showed.

“I wanted to ask you a few questions, and I have a request.” Atris stated.

“Of course, Mistress,” Brianna replied, bowing slightly. She then resumed her usual stance with the woman before her, finally in control despite her surprise.

“Do you remember the stories I told you? About my old student?” Atris asked, her voice controlled and calm. Brianna stood at attention, but even still she sensed the tenseness emanating off her Mistress despite her best efforts. She tried not to betray her knowledge, and her curiosity, as she nodded in affirmation.

“Good, good,” Atris began, clasping her hands before her as if it were part of a meditation exercise, “I believe I need to ask a favor of you, a favor that relies on your recollection of her appearance, and her most recent whereabouts.”

Brianna nodded again, awaiting instruction. The way Mistress spoke of her old student always felt familiar to Brianna. It was the one time Atris ever betrayed emotion, the one time she was unable to compose herself without practice, making itself imminent. It was not unlike how Brianna felt about her sisters, or so she thought. The pain was evident on her face.

“But I ask that you go alone.” Atris finished.

Brianna remained silent, uncertain. She was about to ask why when Atris continued.

“I need this to remain as discreet as possible. I don’t want you to breathe a word of this to your sisters.”

Atris moved closer, placing a careful hand on Brianna’s shoulder.

“I entrust you with this mission, _alone._ ”

“Alone?” Brianna tried not to betray her inner uncertainty, but her Mistress’s hand stayed her.

“You are not unlike myself, Brianna,” she said, using her name again, “I feel as if only you are up to the task.”

“But-?”

“But what will I tell the others?” Atris laughed, her voice hollow but melodic, like distant chimes on the wind, “You need not worry.”

Atris’ eyes were steadying but cold. Brianna nodded, unfamiliar with anything but compliance.

Brianna’s eyes unwittingly looked toward her open chamber door, catching a glimpse of her skewed bed and blanket. Her fingers and her face were still cold.

Atris extended a hand to her cheek, as if to calm her, but her fingers were cold, too.

“There’s no need to worry about the cold where you’re going,” she said, as if reading her thoughts, “In fact, there’s no need at all.”

 

* * *

 

 

_3951 BBY; Anchorhead, Tatooine_

Erebus felt the void leave Anchorhead, sensing the energies in the universe manifest around it as if it were not there, moving around it seamlessly like water forking before a large stone staked in a river. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t taken up this line of work were it not for his sister and what she did at Malachor V, were it not for _what_ she had become.

His sister’s connection to the Force was always a matter of dark import to the Masters on Dantooine, and a matter of objective scholarly interest to few on Coruscant, but none were brave enough to learn more – save for Master Nomi Sunrider. But when she was called away on business, there were no others who dared get close enough for fear of what his sister’s “bond” might do to them, lest it ensnare them unknowingly and rope in their energies, somehow. He believed it too, once, until Malachor was swallowed whole and he felt the Force gather tenfold in his bones as it slowly left the vestiges of his sister, leaving her to become the walking black hole that she was now – a gaping nothingness that defied the laws of all he knew, living despite what should have killed her.

But she seemed almost better for it, content, as if the universe paying her no mind were the best thing that could have happened. Given how many of the Jedi once looked upon her with uncertainty and unbridled fear, maybe it was. It wasn’t until Aiden embraced his fear and called himself Erebus did he give his sister the attention she had deserved.

In the aftermath of the war, he became unstable, unsure of his newfound power and unsure of what to _do_ with it. Had he siphoned it off her, unknowingly? Had the Force fled her, after the massacre on the Mandalorian moon, and sought refuge in her twin? But the Force didn’t work that way. Despite all his years of research as a junior Jedi Historian and as an acolyte under Darth Nihilus, Erebus was not sure, even now. Perhaps his sister’s Force bonds were stronger than any of them realized, the Jedi and the Sith combined.

His Sith Masters mentioned her often, almost as if she were the birth mother of their darkness. In a way, she was. The Mass Shadow Generator should have killed her, or at least twisted her in the way it did Nihilus and his contemporary, Sion. They both considered Malachor to be their birthplace, as did their old mentor, a woman called Traya. But she was gone by the time Nihilus knighted Erebus and granted him the title of Darth. It was a privilege, yes, but he was still subordinate… for now.

But now he had Eden in his grasp. Still undecided as to whether he would capture her and deliver her to Nihilus in hopes of an increase in rank or just approach her to simply _talk,_ Erebus had staked out her droid repair stall in the meanwhile. She had hastily closed shop before leaving, but his frequent patrols dissuaded any potential burglaries, or so he imagined. He felt her void crawl back towards Anchorhead from the Dune Sea now, but as her emptiness neared, Erebus also felt something _else_.

The feeling was familiar, and it reeked of Malachor. It was hard to tell whether it had to do with Eden herself or something else entirely.

But that wasn’t the only development in her absence.

Since she had departed, the Exchange posted a bounty on all Jedi. The galactic black market was already alight with rumors and gossip, talk of potential candidates for the reward and word of where Jedi or other Force-users might be found, but there was a particular interest in General Eden Valen herself. Erebus and his Master were both aware, and Nihilus was particularly interested in news of the living Force wound.

Erebus’ skin crawled at the thought. He knew if he brought his sister before Nihilus that she would be subject to countless experiments, tests, and all means of torture in spite of his reverence – when part of Erebus really wanted to keep her all to himself. It was the reason he remained quiet about her upon first arriving, his gut wrenching at the news when her records were released.

He tried looking into where the leak originated to discover its source, but had no luck. Even extending his senses through the Force did no good. All he felt was malevolence and betrayal, and that wasn’t much to go on considering all the Sith or scum that sought such a prize. Despite the setbacks, Erebus knew he had the upper hand. He was the only one who knew she was here, he was the only one aware of her current excursion out to the Dune Sea, and he was the only one keeping tabs on her presence as her emptiness descended upon Anchorhead once again.

The confines of his ship rendered him restless, and it was time that he scout the area before her arrival. Erebus gathered his belongings, clipping his lightsaber to his belt, making sure it was well concealed beneath his cloak, before descending the loading ramp and making his usual rounds.

Energies milled about him, threatening to cloud his senses. After a breath or two, he could track each individual source of life within the city walls to some extent. He walked past the loading docks to the local bar, walking past a scuffle or two before entering the merchant’s district. This portion of the city was always in flux. Different stalls propped up every day as others disappeared into oblivion, but his sister’s shop remained.

Like any other Tatooine settlement, Anchorhead’s population was always changing, but Eden had chosen to stay. It was only in the past few days that he wondered why she was among them. The closer her nothingness approached the city, the more he suspected it had to do with the artifact he had originally come for. _She knew, somehow._

Nothing dwelled about his sister’s shop, passersby heeding the ‘gone on business’ sign with some respect, it seemed. He slipped into the back entrance without being seen, and reached out with the Force to explore her residence without stirring a single droid this time.

Her workbench felt the most familiar. Erebus recalled Eden coming to him with her first crafted lightsaber. She was only eight. The pride was evident in her eyes, but the envy was more than evident in his. An absent hand traced the edges of the workbench, resurrecting the memory for just a moment, before he pulled himself away and meditated.

There was energy here, but faint. It was clear that there was _something_ here, but the fact that the area was full of inactive droids and run by a person void of the Force made it feel hollow all the same. Yet somehow, despite the dissonance in the energy around him, it felt comforting. He felt some welcome sense of familiarity he was unwilling to let go of. Erebus almost hoped Eden would never return from whatever journey she had embarked on. Maybe it was better that way.

Then the unease set in, subtle and slow.

Before he knew it, Erebus knew she was on the precipice, at the very edge of the city.

His eyes shot open, his breath quick, his body unwilling to leave this place that felt so much like home – a home he never knew enough to even miss.

Nihilus would be waiting. He’d either capture Eden or let her get away. One of these scenarios ended in veneration, and the other in death.

Despite what ambition had inspired him these last nine years, Erebus stayed his hand, unsure of what to do next, waiting for his sister to arrive and discover him, for the first time since… when, exactly? He didn’t even recall what year their last meeting was, and his mind retreated to the mental place he found when he first discovered the part of him that was Erebus and became him.

The darkness enveloped his senses, quashing whatever sentiment remained, welcoming him like an old friend.

Maybe the decision was not as difficult as he predicted.

 

* * *

 

 

_3951 BBY; approaching Anchorhead, Tatooine_

Vale’s mind reeled as they neared Anchorhead again.

She had retreated to her makeshift quarters under the pretense that she was calibrating what she had recovered from the site the previous day. After encountering the Jawa, Orex ordered that they return to Anchorhead as quickly as possible. They had not stopped once since that meeting.

Vale was the first to meet them out on the sands. She was the only one with a handle on the equipment used to translate their gibberish. She knew a bit herself, but not enough to translate accurately. Even before her translator could do the work, a bad feeling crept over her as the miniature creatures squeaked and squawked at her. The Jawa had not come for the crawler. In fact, they never mentioned the salvaged vessel at all. Instead, they asked what became of their journey to “the untouched village” as they called it. They asked if they heard the voices, and heeded the whispers. Vale asked what they knew of the place, but the Jawa refused to elaborate on anything aside from the fact that they were lucky to leave with their lives. Of Tatooine’s many secrets, this was one they had always known to fear. They had known to stay away from the Star Forge navigational chart buried deep in the krayt dragon dens, but this… this was different.

“The Star Forge?” she asked, her transcoder repeating her words in high-pitched Jawaese.

“The dark one was here,” one of them said, the translation replied in a soothing monotone, “And the one they called Revan.”

Orex stood still beside her, his brows furrowed against the sun, but their eyes met at the mention of Revan’s name.

“The dark one?” she repeated, noting that they mentioned Revan by name but someone else, as well. _Malak?_ But the Jawa ignored the question – whether intentionally or not, she could not tell – and continued.

“The people of before left mechanical maps, but the dark one left something else. The thing you carry is dark and dangerous, like them. The one called Revan came looking, too."

The Jawa wished them luck and sent them on their way, almost as if they were afraid to linger any longer before dissolving into the Dune Sea themselves, preferring the isolation of the sands to the darkness Vale and her crew now carried with them.

She was still unsure as to what their next move was. Who would they contact? Was there any way of destroying these artifacts safely? She had no idea, but she had every intention of finding out as soon as she had access to the holonet, if it were any help.

She sighed in relief as the treads slowed again, marking their return to Anchorhead.

Glitch parked the monolithic vehicle a ways outside of the city. Darek and Orex were already lugging salvaged swoop bikes from the cargo hold for their return. Vale heard the commotion down on the loading ramp, but felt someone watching her from the doorway as she gathered her things.

“What I still can’t figure out is _why in the ‘verse_ Darek would have wanted _me_ on this mission.” Asra stated, crossing her arms. “The hell if I know anything about… well, _any_ of this.”

“Before I even signed on, I knew you were the best shot in town.” Vale said, watching Asra fidget. She couldn’t seem to decide whether she wanted to lean broodingly in the doorway, crack her knuckles or stroke her head-tails. “But really, it might be the montrals.”

Vale nodded at the white-striped blue montrals that protruded from Asra’s head. Like other Togruta, Asra wore a headdress around them – though hers was a simple silver chain with tear-drop beads weighing its linked tendrils in place. And also like other Togruta, Asra’s montrals were capable of sensing where something or someone was, even without the Force.

“You’re probably closer to a Jedi than I am these days,” Vale joked, though the humor fell flat and Asra’s eyes shifted.

“I didn’t know the Jedi could do that,” she said, her voice soft and tentative, “Strip the Force from a person? I may not know what it’s like, but it sounds like it would be horrible.”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds. Well, sort of,” Vale explained as she surveyed what droids remained in the hold, making sure that whatever diagnostics she could use were properly uploaded, “It’s a bit like living without a limb, only the loss of it doesn’t hurt as much as it hinders.”

Asra frowned, confused. Vale sighed, well-aware that she was doing a piss-poor job of explaining the Force, something she hadn’t felt in almost a decade.

“Imagine you woke up one day, and your dominant hand was missing. Not wrenched from you, not sawn off or anything gruesome. Just… _gone_.”

Asra considered her words, nodding, flexing her trigger finger as if taking Vale’s metaphor to heart. “You go to use it and… it’s not there?”

Vale nodded.

The feeling that flooded her at Malachor was worse than anything that came after. She wasn’t sure what happened, but once she left the Council chamber days later, her verdict ringing in her ears, the Force was void. It did not answer to her any longer, and it was almost as if it was never there. Almost.

Even still, she found herself trying to reach out with the Force at times. She was never skilled with mind tricks or the like, but as a Jedi Guardian she was used to harnessing the Force to enhance her speed or physical skill. Vale had to get used to taking things slow and steady, and accounting for gravity more than she was used to. She was now used to a shock staff more than she was a lightsaber, or so she believed, and a blaster felt more at home in her hand than she ever imagined one would be.

“I’m sorry to even ask, I just-“ Asra started, unable to finish her thought.

“It’s okay, really.” Vale hadn’t expected to make any friends out here, or ever, but from the moment she met Asra, she knew things were different. She tried to keep her distance, but in the past few months she had to admit that it was nice to see a familiar face around. Asra felt betrayed for a moment earlier, but she was trying to understand things now, and that was more than anyone had ever done for Vale, even before her exile.

“I still don’t feel right,” Asra admitted, absently stroking her head-tails again as Vale filled her pack, finding one of the mysterious onyx pyramids among her things, “I don’t know, maybe it’s because I’m not familiar with any of this, but-“

Vale stayed her, taking her hand from her pack and laying it gently on Asra’s shoulder. “I may have a history with this stuff, but we’re just as clueless as you are. And besides, I’m-“ Vale swallowed hard, “I’m really glad you were there.”

Dredging up memories was never easy, but Vale had no idea how she may have reacted if she had heard the ghost of Malak in her ear without Asra by her side. Asra looked up at her, appreciative, nodding in recognition.

“I guess I’m glad, too.”

Asra nodded in the direction of the droids, asking without words if Vale needed any more help. The Togruta helped her load some intelligence modules into a pack and load it onto one of the swoop bikes out on the dunes. Darek and Asra exchanged soft glances, and Orex looked at Vale with purpose.

“I think I may have an idea of who we can contact,” he said, though his voice was gruff and unsure. “I’ll need to check on a few things first, and it’s no guarantee.”

Orex and Vale spoke with their heads together, their whispers almost muted by the surrounding sands and the unforgiving winds upon them. Vale thought of Dxun and how the rain would drown out most sounds, allowing enemy troops to approach unannounced, despite their better efforts. She had a momentary flash of memory, of a man in his twenties disarming mines ahead of them, his boots caked with mud and what seemed like a permanent spatter of blood across his chest. Vale shook her head, looking at Orex with a better idea of who he was, once.

“It’s better than nothing,” she said. Orex nodded, his good eye glinting in the suns before he turned on his heel and mounted a swoop bike beside them.

Asra awaited her, ready. Vale swung her leg over the body of the mechanical beast, gripping Asra’s waist as the engine thrummed beneath them. She reached a hand back to make sure her pack was in place, her shock staff snug and secure in the straps. She lowered a pair of goggles over her eyes and nodded at Asra as she coaxed the throttle, sending them forward.

No one batted an eye as they entered the city. They were just another troupe of travelers, no one remarkable or of note. No one could feel the darkness they brought with them. Asra and the others cut their engines once they were inside the city gates, the other inhabitants milling about them without a second glance.

Vale lifted her goggles to rest on her forehead as she dismounted the swoop bike. Asra swung her leg around as well, careening the bike in the general direction of Vale’s shop as they walked. When they approached, the stall was quiet, but something wasn’t right.

Vale had no words for what she felt, or why, but she held up a hand to stay the others. Without words, they obeyed and milled about the market square as if nothing suspicious were happening. Vale approached her shop with caution, walking around the perimeter, keeping an eye out for foot prints or any other evidence that the place had been breached. Nothing caught her eye, but something didn’t feel _right._

She lifted the sign she had left days ago, “gone on business”, and tucked it into her pack as she tentatively entered her shop alone. The droids were accounted for and untampered with, so it seemed. Her eyes scanned the area, looking for any sign of intrusion, of _wrongness_. Nothing jumped out at her. She approached her workspace in the back, and though nothing look disturbed, it felt… _wrong._ That same feeling of offness struck a chord with her, leaving a bad taste in her mouth, though she did not know how or why.

Asra poked her head in the front entrance before waving the rest of them inside. They had milled about the city center long enough, and it was time they discussed their next move.

Vale sighed as the rest of them filed inside. Darek, Orex and Asra brought their bikes around back and Glitch carefully shouldered the munitions pack onto the counter in the workshop. The others gathered at Vale’s side, after ensuring that the entrances remained closed. In turn, they shared dark glances, though none of them dared touch the pack – they knew not to. But it remained a reminder between them, and it made the air feel heavy.

They brought back more materials than anyone else ever had from the site before, and it wasn’t until now that they could truly remark on their loot, forgetting the more important topic at hand for just a few moments of reprieve and relief.

Darek was particularly excited about some Great Hyperspace War era weaponry, surprised at the near-pristine condition most of it was in. The swoop bikes were another perk, though those were not nearly as old. Glitch mumbled some things to Orex, to which he nodded in admiration though Vale hardly heard a word. Orex ruffled the girl’s hair and Vale wondered whether she was some kind of protégé of his, now that she knew the man a little better. The girl was good with explosives, which, as Vale recalled, was Orex’s specialty as a Republic soldier.

Vale even allowed herself to get excited. Some of the droids at the site were old, but their intelligence modules were still programmed to track moisture harvests with near precision, which was worth its weight in gold out here. She knew a lot of customers who might appreciate such a thing out in these parts, and for a decent price to boot - especially since Vale hadn’t put any money down to buy them. The others talked about the deserted town itself, digging into the lore conversationally as Vale unloaded her pack, happening upon the old relic again. She placed it carefully on the counter before her, watching how it caught the light as the others’ conversation slowed, and they, too, became engrossed in watching on.

“How old would you say is some of the stuff you saw there, Darek?” Vale asked, absently reaching for her work goggles.

“About a thousand years old,” Darek replied, his voice growing softer with each word, “Why?”

“How old would you say this thing is?” Vale said, gesturing towards the miniature pyramid. Darek only shrugged.

She placed her work goggles over her eyes and magnified the lenses so she could get a closer look. Upon further inspection, it looked as if there were miniature binary designs in the onyx, or whatever the hell it was, but she would need to examine the thing even closer before making any definitive conclusions.

“Is there someone we can send this to? Some kind of expert?” Asra asked, the worry evident in her tone of voice.

For a moment, Vale thought of her brother and of Atris, and how they would busy themselves with the datapads, ancient scrolls and books of the Jedi Archives. She wondered if the place still stood, and who was in charge now. If there was anyone left.

“Whoever can handle _these_ things might be our only bet,” Orex said, clearly referring to the crystals stashed safely in the munitions pack.

Vale sighed, lowering her goggles before taking them off entirely, though she was almost tempted to throw them across the room. Resisting the urge, she placed them as gently as she could on her workbench and surveyed the others.

“So who do we go to? The Republic? Is that our next move?”

“Maybe,” Orex said, “Like I said, I still have some contacts there. The Jedi had close ties with the Republic, and I have a feeling that not every Jedi was wiped out at that conclave.”

“Or so we hope,” Vale said, mentally reminding herself not to tempt her curiosity on the matter. Malak was gone forever, yes, but there were still others that she had once cared for that were alive and well before she knew any different. Revan was missing, for one. But she also thought of the Council: of Atris’ stoic stare, full of betrayal and hurt-nearing-hatred; and Kavar’s eyes, a dark and deep sapphire like sea after a storm, heavy with regret. And she thought of Nomi, too, her first Master. In her desperation, she had sought Master Sunrider out not long after her exile, when she still stumbled blindly out on the Rim without the guidance of the Force. But she had no luck. And none, either, when she sought information on her brother and his whereabouts. The last she had heard, however, was that he was no longer on Coruscant, but that could mean a thousand things. She wondered if he, too, had gone to the conclave on Katarr. She wondered if any of them had.

“I’m pretty sure they prepare for this sort of thing. The Jedi would know not to _all_ gather in one place, especially if something like this could happen. It might have happened before, but I'm not sure.” Vale said, vaguely remembering a scandal from around the time that she was first asked to join Revan’s cause that flirted with the idea of a Jedi fail-safe. "Either way, they're definitely in hiding now, and probably impossible to get a hold of."

“And they wouldn’t want to be found,” Orex finished. Vale nodded.

“Who do you still keep in contact with?” she asked. “In the Republic?”

“A few soldiers and techs, you’d remember them,” Orex responded almost fondly, “And they’d be glad to know you were still around, too.”

Vale felt her cheeks grow warm at the thought, but Orex continued without comment.

“Who was that Republic soldier that traveled with Revan?” Vale suddenly remembered before getting too sentimental. “He was a Republic soldier, right?”

She remembered the name had sounded familiar when talk of Revan's return were abound, but the name escaped her now.

Orex nodded in affirmation before saying, “I think he’s a higher up, now.”

“He would be,” she replied, considering the chain of command, “Do you know anyone working directly with him?”

“Pretty sure he’s heading the relief efforts so it shouldn’t be hard,” Orex answered.

“He might be our best bet,” Vale considered, unsure of where her gut was getting its ideas. She was still eyeing the pyramid before her, dredging up memories she had once sworn to bury. She thought of Revan, she thought of Dxun, and she tried to recall nights when Malak awoke in a sweat, screaming. Perhaps he had said something in passing, or shouted it from the depths of his dreams before waking her. There had to be something, _anything_. But despite what she could recall, Revan was still out there and she was their best hope, their  _only_ hope.

Revan had gone missing on purpose, but was this the reason why?

The miniature relic betrayed no secrets, and remained silent and still.

 

* * *

 

 

The heat enveloped her, and welcomed her more than the cold ever did. Still, she was instructed to draw her hood – all the better to mask her features, to keep herself hidden and nondescript. Despite the shade, Brianna relished in the plush warmth of the suns basking down on her from above, settling over her cool skin like velvet. She had been cold for far too long.

The hood hid not only her notable features but also the smile that crept across her mouth at the sensation. Her skin yearned to drink in the heat of this planet and let it settle deep within her bones, but she was not to be here for long. She was only here to observe.  
  
As per her Mistress’ instructions, there would be a shop ahead, several hundred paces ahead of her – though all she could see were the masses milling about the marketplace. Once in the general vicinity, she would wait for word, and watch.  
  
She had never been trusted enough to go anywhere on her own. Despite the ill feeling that plagued her at the thought, the warmth that pervaded her hooded cloak, the sensuous smells of the sand, and even the feel of it embedded in her fingernails and stuck in the crevices of her boots made her feel a little bit more alive and she did not envy the creeping cold back home. It was seldom she experienced anything other than snow, if she were allowed outside at all. The shifting weight of the sand beneath her boots was something so unlike the solid crunching of snowfall underfoot that she was almost entranced enough to forget where it was she was going.  
  
Though she was more familiar with what was cold and lonesome, she had seen places other than the mountain. Dense jungle frontier, the pervasive thickness of swamp land, the nothingness of vast plains – and yet the desert beyond this town was something she had never seen. Sure, the prairies and plains of other worlds seemed endless but there was something entrancing about the vast neverendingness of the desert. Unlike other wastelands, this one did not _feel_ empty and she could not explain why. She had tried to divulge her feelings, but her mistress had simply bid her to _“Heed not, child,”_ and she obeyed, despite the very thought of it dogging her brain.  
  
A building bearing the same facade described in her mission came into view, even though many of the formations here looked so similar – clay walls topped with burnt orange doors to match the tents overhead and the hue of the sky when the twin suns set. Her steps slowed as she approached, soaking it all in.

The shop sign read as described, and Brianna was not one to admit that she was almost afraid. She stopped and looked about, looking for a place from which to watch safely. Not far off was a food stall and several well-worn tables covered with meager shade. She ordered something she could eat slowly, and parked herself at a vacant table for two. Tempted as she was to watch everything around her, Brianna was drawn to the place she was assigned to keep an eye on, if not for the import of her mission, but for the curiosity that drew her eye there. Beyond its walls was the woman that betrayed her Mistress, the woman who abandoned the Jedi and all they stood for.

Soon, there would be swarms in the market-place, and though Atris already predicted the outcome of the scuffle to come, Brianna was to report the results promptly and not leave a single detail out of her retelling. Brianna watched and waited, eager for the action to unfold.


	8. Every Man For Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vale and her crew need get in touch with the Republic, or anyone else that might help, but a hunting party gathers in Anchorhead, and plans go awry.

_3951 BBY, Anchorhead, Tatooine_

 

It wasn’t long before Darek noted the gathering outside of Vale’s storefront, advising that she might want to close up shop for good.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he said, mirroring Asra’s words from the day before.

Glitch and Orex remained in the workshop, ensuring that their cargo was secure while Vale, Asra and Darek gathered in the shop proper, watching discreetly from the patchwork building’s slatted windows.

To anyone shopping the market, the crowd was nothing of note, but to a trained soldier like Darek who had been keeping tabs on all present, the signs were obvious. They were being watched.

“Do you think they know?” Asra asked, already adopting a hushed tone. “About the holocrons?”

“Not sure what a bunch of mercenaries and bounty hunters would do with them, unless there really are Sith involved,” Vale replied, fear rooting somewhere deep in her chest at the thought. Was it Revan, having pulled off the greatest con the Republic had ever known, and _again_ no less? Or was it something else?

“Maybe they just want what’s theirs,” Asra mused.

Vale thought about it before shaking her head, unsure, “These things are ancient, and they’re almost not even holocrons. More like a primitive prototype or something, but far more dangerous.”

Asra only shrugged.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were right, though. The Sith are all about their _dark lineage_ or whatever.” Vale laughed darkly.

“Cute,” Asra retorted, amusement returning to her face before Darek roused their attention.

His skin gleamed a striped red-and-black in the slatted sunlight that filtered into the room against his face, making him look all the more dramatic as he turned to them again.

“I don’t think they’re here for those things, whatever the hell they are,” he said.

“What makes you say that?” The worry was clear in Asra’s voice as a trigger-ready finger traced the edges of her holstered blaster.

Vale felt the same. Danger was near, and she didn’t need the Force to know it. Instinct kicked in and adrenaline coursed through her veins. Her shock staff was secure against her back for now, and at the sight of Orex in the doorway, she knew she might be using it sooner than she expected.

“You’re gonna want to see this.”

Orex retreated into the workshop before Vale could ask any questions. She exchanged glances with Darek and Asra before following him, her sense of dread mounting.

_A bad feeling is right._

Orex stood over Glitch, whose hands were poised over Vale’s ancient terminal computer. She mostly used the thing for transactions or logging her inventory these days, but she had a feeling she wouldn’t like what she saw when she approached the display.

Vale froze. A younger version of herself looked out from the monitor, her skin untarnished and unscarred under a mess of short hair, a Padawan braid trailing lazily down her shoulder.

“What is this?” she said, her voice low, severe, and unbelieving.

Orex didn’t say anything, and Glitch didn’t make eye contact. The girl hid behind her own mess of hair and scrolled further down the page instead. Eden Valen had been outed, her records released after almost ten years in exile.

Beneath an image of a young Eden just before she entered the war were various other iterations of herself and their adjoining ID card photos, false names, transport documentations, and forged medical records all laid bare. And stamped on every image of her was an Exchange bounty, 50 million credits worth.

There wasn’t a file that portrayed her now. There was nothing on Vale, but there was a photo of her from a year ago, maybe. Half her face took up a pixelated screenshot from what appeared to be a security feed from the Anchorhead docks. Her hair was fully alight in the dyed yellow-blonde that it was now slowly growing out of, and though her garb was different, anyone who had seen her about town would be able to identify her.

“50 million credits, huh?” was all she could muster in an unamused tone, placing her hands plaintively on her hips as her mind raced. She, Orex and Glitch all stared at her console display, unsure of what to do next.

“Who would do this? Why?” Orex pressed quietly, his voice soft, handling the weight of the situation with delicate but deliberate words. He must have known that this was not protocol, that she was erased from the public record. There was no good reason this information should have leaked at all, especially with what the Jedi feared of her. Vale felt oddly comforted, reminded of the camaraderie she often missed with her troops. The Jedi had betrayed her, Revan had abandoned her and Malak had come to despise her and the wounds she left him with, or so she hoped – despite whatever regrets she had for what she lost or what she was denied, her troops had only ever tried to do the right thing, and she always felt wrong in leaving them behind.

The Jedi exiled her for a reason, and they sealed her records away in hopes that no one would go looking for her, Revan included. But they were sure to keep tabs on her, to ensure that the wounds that festered in her wake were controlled, monitored, and maintained. And who, pray tell, would take on such a task, or dare say revel in it? Vale knew the answer.

“Atris,” she whispered, her voice unable to speak the woman’s name at full volume with the weight of it.

Orex cocked his head but allowed her to continue.

“My old Master, or one of them anyway,” she sighed, still unnerved by all of her past selves passing judgment on her from the monitor, “But as to why part? I have no idea.”

Orex nodded curtly, returning his attention to the screen as well.

“We’ll need to be quick about this,” he said, though Vale wasn’t sure if he was speaking to her, to Glitch, or to the both of them.

“Quicker than before?” Vale asked, eyeing the munitions pack now tucked beneath her workbench.

“We need to move immediately, if not yesterday,” Orex responded, shooting her a half-hearted smirk. Vale felt rain again, but this time only in her memory. And she remembered his name, then. Agent Antares. Pushing the recollection from her mind, she mentally mapped out her shop, the city and the dunes beyond, and even the sector of the Outer Rim where Tatooine resided. She could hold her own, and so could the others, but she would be damned if she was the reason they were all in danger.

“There’s a passage not far from here. Out the service door, about ten paces down the back alley, there’s a grate to some old tunnels that belonged to a moisture rig once-upon-a-time. The machine’s gone, but the channels are still there, and they’re large enough for all of you to get out safely. You can follow the tunnels to the cantina, that damn Czerka post at the edge of town, or out into the desert for all I care, but you _have_ to get out of here.”

Doling out orders was still second nature, and Vale was surprised it came so naturally, even now.

“You’ve planned an escape route everywhere you’ve gone, haven’t you?” Orex smirked knowingly.

Vale may have taken that as an insult, but she knew Orex meant well. The man probably did the same. Life on the Outer Rim was merciless, especially for ex-soldiers.

“You know what they always say about bad habits,” she quipped, despite the urgency welling in her bones.

“But what about you?” Glitch asked. Near dumbfounded, all Vale could do was stare at her. The girl watched her from behind her dark veil of a fringe, eyes wide though her expression stern. How old was she, anyway?

“I’ll distract the bounty hunters, or whoever the hell is parked outside.” Vale glanced through the narrow slit of a window in her workshop, making sure that the alleyway was clear at least, lest her one and only plan go awry before they even got started. “The rest of you need to get off-planet. Find the Republic, _anyone_ that might help.”

Glitch looked from Vale to Orex, as if awaiting his answer to the proposition. The girl’s face was emotionless and Vale couldn’t tell if that was just how the girl was wired or if her plan was a dumb one.

“And the crystals?”

Orex was careful not to call them holocrons – they were never sure what they were back then, and they sure as hell weren’t any more certain now.

“You’ll have to take them with you. The Jedi can’t _all_ be wiped out, and if anything they’d be allied with the Republic, right?”

Orex nodded despite the words that came out of his mouth, “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“They want me alive, but that’s not to say they’re not willing to kill to get to me. If any of those bounty hunters see you with me, you’re dead. We’d be lucky if they haven’t already,” Vale pleaded.

Glitch and Orex exchanged glances before the girl looked to the munitions pack again. For a moment, Vale felt the unease radiating from her, but it may have just been her intuition. They were all pretty uneasy now as it was, herself included.

“There was a third…” she thought aloud, but the other two were barely listening.

Glitch returned her gaze to Orex and the two nodded, turning again to Vale.

“Stolen sandcrawler,” Orex said without any elaboration. It sounded like a callsign. Vale knew what Orex was up to without even asking, and she smirked at the fact that he trusted she’d make it out of this alive.

“Stolen sandcrawler,” she affirmed, nodding.

Her eyes swept over her workshop, stalling over a loose grate near the alley window – a hiding spot she located upon first buying the place. Vale always had emergency rations and several other unused ID cards she could utilize if she ever needed to move on. Without a word, Glitch followed her gaze and investigated the grate. Taking hold of the rucksack inside, Glitch shrugged and handed it to Vale.

“You might want to work on your tells.”

“I’m getting sloppy,” Vale laughed darkly as she took the sack and looked at Orex approvingly. “Kid’s got potential.”

Vale held back a laugh and nodded as Orex placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. After years of isolation, of avoiding contact or attachment, there was something about this small gesture that felt so natural – and so bittersweet and heartbreaking at once. “I have a feeling we’ll meet again.”

Vale wasn’t sure what made her say it, but the thought did not process in her mind before being spoken. It was simply stated, and it was the truth. Orex’s good eye fixed on hers as he nodded, affirming her feeling and the sentiment it carried.

“We’ll meet again.”

The room was almost too quiet before Asra’s uneasy voice sang through her workshop’s doorway. “ _Guys_?”

On instinct, Vale’s hand reached back for her shock staff. She unhitched it from her back as she entered the main shop. Darek held his rifle at the ready and Asra’s blaster spun around her finger, itching to be fired. Vale’s eyes locked on Asra’s, asking without words. The Togruta’s warm yellow eyes darted to door on her left. The side entrance. Darek still had his eyes fixed outside, presumably watching their latest threat as they contemplated making their move.

Asra’s blaster remained aloft as she rushed to Vale’s side, placing a gentle hand on her arm.

“I want to hear all about your dashing escape, ya hear?” she whispered with equal parts threat and affection.

Vale placed a hand on Asra’s, nodding solemnly, silently regretting their circumstances but thankful that she hadn’t made more of a habit of making friends in her exile. This wouldn’t be easy.

Vale felt Orex and Glitch arrive in the doorway beside her. Orex shot Asra a look. Within an instant, Asra understood. She nodded at Orex and looked to Darek, catching wind of their silent exchange. In the span of a moment, the two were in sync and up to speed with Orex’s soundless orders. Orex and Vale made eye contact once more, silently saying their goodbyes as the rest of the crew filed into the workshop and through the unseen service door without a sound.

Vale was alone again.

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time in years, Erebus was afraid.

Word on the street was that there was a Jedi in town. The image circulating the holonet was familiar to enough of the locals that Erebus’ plan was thrust into action. He parked himself just outside of his sister’s stall, but upon doing so was immediately made aware of the other hunters on watch. Most of them were unremarkable, and he knew he could best them easily in a fight, if necessary - but there was _one_ that troubled him.

At a nearby food stall sat a girl, hooded and cloaked. Though Erebus could not see her face, he could feel the faintest signs of the Force welling in her cells, urging her bones into patient action, preparing to strike when the moment was most opportune. She watched and waited, just as he did, but her presence unnerved him still. Especially since he did not know who she was or why she was here.

His Master knew now, and he already had a lot to answer for.

Not only could Darth Nihilus easily discover where Erebus’ ship was docked by asking some subordinate to retrieve his ship’s coordinates, but Nihilus could simply reach out with the Force and discover that his apprentice dawdled before the doorstep of their very Maker and hesitated upon it.

Erebus scoffed at the idea but knew that in some way, it was true. Nihilus and Sion were ravaged by what happened at Malachor, and were born from what ruins remained. Their master, Darth Traya, had brought them out of the ashes of oblivion so that they could reign over it. And it was her ambition to study that forsaken moon and the wound that still festered there, but most importantly, what had created it. Or who.

Erebus was who he was because of his sister’s slaughter, because of her abandonment on Dantooine, because of their innate connection through the Force. He could wrong her as she had wronged him by taking her to Nihilus and letting his master do what he will. Or he could take her for himself. He could kill her, yes, but there was another part of him that just wanted to take her _away_ from all of this. There was a part of him that felt like home in the wake of her shop, a part of him that felt warm again.

Before his plan of action could be decided, he’d have to dispose of the Echani first.

But he had to know – who was she?

The girl at the stall was stoic, sure, and unlike any other creature he had ever come across. Debasing was his way of staying aloof, but his curiosity was getting the better of him, and it was making him clumsy.

She was unlike any Jedi he had ever known, or ever met for that matter, and he had yet to come across a Sith that was as adept as she was when it came to blocking his mental intrusions. Erebus thrived on forcefully probing into the thoughts of others, especially given his love for learning, prying into unsuspecting minds for information that was by no rights his to take. But her mind was vice-tight and silent as stone. She had been trained for this.

Electricity poured from his fingertips without his consent. It was only a matter of time before the Force-sensitive girl noticed it, too.

 

* * *

 

Vale held her shock staff aloft as she surveyed her shop for the last time. None of the other dwellings she had inhabited in her exile ever stood out. In fact, she could hardly tell them apart. But here, she felt tempted to grow roots, and she almost had. She had a shop, a clientele. She had friends. _Friends_.

Her eyes glanced back at the storage room door when a monotone voice spoke coolly in her ear.

“Affirmative Statement: Master, I believe we should vacate the premises immediately.”

Vale swung around, her shock staff still at the ready, and came face-to-face with an HK droid. It was one of her many salvaged droids, lined up pretty, all in a row. But none of her stock was programmed to activate pre-purchase. In fact, she kept most of the intelligence modules in storage, unless a customer requested an on-floor demonstration. The droid’s amber eyes stared vacantly out at her, it’s head cocked sideways in crude imitation of more sentient capabilities.

“Admonitory Warning: Time is of the essence. A horde of bounty hunters and mercenaries await you, as well as a Sith Agent and an Echani-trained warrior.”

The HK’s voice drawled softly in the open space, as if aware that they may be overheard.

“How did you-?”

“Assertive Suggestion: I believe we should vacate now and ask questions later.”

And with that, the HK droid took it upon itself to approach the main counter and procure the blaster rifle she kept hidden beside the register.

Vale’s eyes widened, watching wordlessly.

“Wh-?”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before her shop’s side door burst open. Before instinct could kick in, blaster fire singed the air around her. The intruders, the mercenaries, bounty hunters, whoever they were, lay dead on her doorstep within moments. She didn’t even have the chance to get a good look at them.

“Confident Assumption: You have miscalculated your odds. You may want to reconsider them.”

“Who _are_ you?” Vale found herself saying, incredulous. Though she knew full well what her inventory consisted of, it just didn’t add up.

“Astonished Admission: I am an HK-50 model droid. My primary functions are to facilitate communications and terminate hostilities. You _should_ know these things, Master.”

Vale rolled her eyes.

“ _Right, s_ hould I be surprised?” incensed that she had forgotten how pompous protocols were before the droid could respond with another quip of its own.

“You might want to find cover.”

Without elaboration, the droid moved toward the sales counter. Heart racing, mind on fire, Vale ran to its side, ducking beneath her sorry excuse for a register as the front wall collapsed in an ear-shattering explosion.

“The rear exit is our only option, Master,” the droid stated, its drolling monotone muted by the aftermath of the blast. Vale’s ears were still ringing, but she understood loud and clear. Whatever the hell was happening, her body urged her onward, and she wondered just how far the others had gotten. If they were lucky, they were already in the moisture rigging tunnels, and whatever happened afterward would only propel them further away from this disaster.

With the HK at her side, Vale ducked through the workshop doorway and glanced out her side window. The slatted shades permitted her a view of the alley again – the way was clear.

“Now _you_ might want to find cover,” Vale said this time, slamming her open palm on a hidden panel in the workshop doorway. Several figures entered the shop proper through the blasted entrance, ( _Fools,_ Vale thought to herself) just as the rest of the shop collapsed on top of them. She was already out the back door with the mysterious HK at her side when the rest of the shop followed suit, dissolving into the sands behind them in a cloud of mushrooming dust and debris.

Flashes of memory invaded her grasp on the present: she felt as if she were one moment, she was darting through the alleyways of Anchorhead and the next she felt the weight of humid air, tepid and stagnant despite the rain – and even as Anchorhead’s sand threatened to fill her lungs as she ran, she heard the distinct sounds of Mandalorian vehicles thrumming as they weaved through dampened trees, kicking up mud into the underbrush. Vale was already halfway down the narrow path towards the cantina when a cloaked figure swept into the passage, blocking any advances, bringing her memories to a staggering halt.

Her blood stilled, her limbs frozen in half-recognition, but before her brain could recognize the figure standing before her, a phantom hand grabbed her elbow, jerked her sideward, and straight into the durasteel side of a dumpster.

“Always hated this place,” an almost sing-song voice uttered in her ear, annoyed despite the melody inherent in her speech. Vale cursed the absence of the Force and the clumsiness of her natural skills, still struggling to keep up with everything going on. The alleyway she left behind still felt heavy, the presence of the cloaked figure weighing it down with a dark familiarity she hadn’t felt since the massacre at Malachor V. And yet, despite the urgency with which she assessed the threat, Vale was pressed with another matter: the massive Wookiee and the blue-skinned Twi’lek at her side, still stabling her arm in a vice grip.

“We’ll exchange names and braid each other’s _whatevers,_ later,” the Twi’lek quipped, “but right now, you best be coming with me, sister.”

“Cautionary Proposal: Master, we do not know who-“

But before the rogue droid could spit out another word, the Wookiee reached forward, grabbed its head and clawed its intelligence module straight out. Without any further explanation, the Wookiee tossed the module at Vale, expecting her to catch it, and roared “You can fix this hunk of junk later, too.”

Vale’s Shyriiwook was rusty, but she got the gist of it, the module tumbling into her half-suspecting hands.

“Your friends are up ahead, and if you want to see them again, we need to _move_.”

With another jerk of her arm, Vale was up and running again. The Twi’lek was slender, small almost, but wiry strong, and the Wookiee lugged what remained of the HK over his hulking shoulders as he kept up the rear. Instead of making a clear run to the cantina, the Twi’lek led them towards the loading area of the Czerka outpost, where there’d be plenty of cover. _Smart._

Vale ran but managed to catch her breath, and in the meantime kept tabs on everything going on, falling back into hold habits the longer she ran with it.

Acid and adrenaline ran her veins as she kept up with the Twi’lek and the Wookiee, both of them hazarding glances and shots back over their shoulders. Vale ran with her staff in one hand, electrifying the air around them as they rushed forward, and her blaster in the other. Trigger ready, she looked back to find the Wookiee firing at nothing, the droid lolling at his side.

The Twi’lek pulled Vale back into cover once they reached the restocking station, reloading her weapon and looking over the edge of the cargo canister they were now breathing heavily against.

“If that _sonofa-“_

But before the words were out of her mouth, the air sizzled with energy behind them, and Vale knew her shock staff wasn’t the one responsible.

The figure from earlier stood nearby, and though Vale couldn’t see him, she could sense him.

This was no regulated static charge - it was the _Force_.

A crackle electrified the air again and the Twi’lek’s eyes widened, her grip firming on her blaster. The Wookiee growled, swatting at his now static-charged hair. There was silence, and then another round of blaster fire, only this time, it wasn’t from the Twi’lek beside her. Vale glanced around the cargo container, spying a rifle poised from the roof of the Czerka building and nearby a trail of Zabrakian horns poking out from the side of a vent exhaust. _Darek._

The yard stirred, and though the stranger remained hidden, two others joined the firefight.

Two Czerka-clad officers slipped out the back entrance of the outpost, assuming positions behind other nearby cargo as two security cameras swiveled along the wall behind them. Vale heard the buzz of a comlink just before one of the officers opened fire.

A pipe ruptured nearby, and the figure emerged again, but unafraid. He walked to the center of the unloading station and stood, waiting.

Blaster fire filled the air again, missing the cloaked figure entirely. With a wave of his hand, one of the Czerka officers lurched sideways and into his partner, leaving them both in a muddled heap.

Another shot rang through the space, echoing off the canisters, this time managing to singe the sleeve of the figure’s cloak. As Darek took his second shot, a beam of violet light sliced through the air, deflecting it. One of the security cams burst into sparks, subdued by the flames that followed.

Hood drawn, the figure’s face remained concealed, though their intentions laid bare. Dark gloved hands bristled with electricity as the violet light disappeared into the hilt of a crude metallic cylinder, now holstered at the stranger’s hip.

_A lightsaber._

“What in the _hell_?” the Twi’lek muttered at her side, equally in awe.

Darek did not dare fire again, and Vale watched as he retreated, out of sight. She had no idea where the others were, but she knew they must be nearby. If they knew what was good for them, they would continue retreating and not look back until Anchorhead and all of Tatooine were far, _far_ behind them. Other shots fired. More head hunters were on their tail, and gaining on them. If they didn’t think quickly, they’d have nowhere to run.

Vale’s mind churned with questions she knew she was not yet able to answer, yet somehow, she trusted the girl beside her and her Wookiee companion. If anything, they wanted to see her out of this mess. Even if they were only in it for the price on her head, they at least wanted to bring her in alive, and she could work with that. As for the figure standing before them, the only thing she could imagine he wanted was the crystals, the ancient holocrons still safe in Glitch’s pack – or so she hoped. If they were smart, Orex and the others had resumed their escape… and Vale could buy them time.

She stood, holstering her blaster. The Twi’lek grabbed her hand, but Vale pulled back. Her shock staff at the ready, she faced the hooded figure and waited for him to make a move. She assumed her position, falling into pseudo-Makashi formation, and waited.

Her shock staff bristled with blue-white light, rivaling the electric tendrils that snaked the idle hands of the stranger.

“It’s been a while,” a male voice admitted, almost informally, his voice gravelly but wistful.

Vale faltered. She was missing something. She expected his words to be menacing, but they were sorrowful, heavy with regret. Maybe he wasn’t here for the holocrons, maybe he was-

She almost expected him to continue, to explain himself, and though his voice betrayed him, he extended a hand with a violent thrust and Vale felt her feet leave the floor. Her throat tightened, the breath squeezed out of her lungs as she lunged forward. Within the span of a moment, Vale rushed through the open air, her limbs dangling, as the stranger puppeteered her toward him with the pull of the Force.

She sputtered, gasping for air on her hands and knees, at his feet.

It only took her a moment to gather her breath and to push the disgust that rose at the back of her throat at the stranger’s display, but she remained on her knees, watching the outsider with her peripheral vision, her keen senses tracking his movements and the calm complacency that settled over him at the sight of her supposed submission.

And just when he thought he had the upper hand, she grabbed his ankle and jerked it toward him, pulling him off his feet.

“Doesn’t feel so great, does it?” she sneered, pulling herself upright again.

Vale reactivated her shock staff and prodded the man’s chest, but her limbs almost went slack at the sight of him.

His hood displaced by the fall, the man’s pale face lay exposed to the twin suns above, revealing familiar green eyes, so much like hers and yet so different just the same. They’d changed. So much had changed.

“It _has_ been a while,” she found herself saying, her voice a hoarse whisper now despite her defiant words only moments before.

A question formed in her mind, the words rattling around her mouth unsurely, but a rustling in the alleyway drew her attention before she could fathom the composure to speak.

Vale’s eyes darted, but her staff remained poised, pinning the man to the ground. _Aiden_ , Vale thought, _after all this time._

He stirred. Without thinking, she prodded him the chest with force, suddenly reminded of their youth, but also recalling only moments before when he had used the Force against her. Her stomach churned.

“Not so fast,” she uttered, all sentiment dissolving from her tone of voice. Vale narrowed her eyes and hissed, “We’re not done here, yet.”

“So, some things never do change,” he spat back at her, his eyes indignant, glaring. It was only now she noticed just how unnaturally green they had become – bright and menacing, no longer their natural soothing sage.

Vale prodded him again.

“ _Evidently._ ”

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee changed positions, having inched closer to Vale in the moments that followed. She felt the Twi’lek’s eyes on her, her blue lekku visible in her peripheral vision as she assumed position beside a nearby crate, her blaster at the ready.

Vale shot the girl a look, still unsure of her next move. The girl’s brown eyes darted between Vale and Aiden, though Vale doubted he went by that name anymore. Without speaking, the girl nodded and looked over the edge of the crate to get a better look at the alley beyond. She didn’t seem to see anything either, but the Twi’lek poised her blaster instead, still careful to aim and take cover at the same time.

Aiden squirmed again, his hands prickling with static lightning once more.

“I can destroy you,” he said, his voice finally assuming the venomous authority Vale had expected the first time he opened his mouth.

“So, what are you waiting for?”

Vale thrust the edge of her shock staff into Aiden’s chest, their electrical currents mingling for a moment before he laughed. His voice was hollow but guttural. Aiden had never been this strong, nor this confident. Cocky, yes, and self-assured, but never when it came to physical endeavors. His command of the Force had been elementary, his skills best put to use in the Jedi Archives. Vale had never known a more brilliant mind, but that hadn’t stopped him from slinging insults at her when she told him about joining Revan’s cause. As much as things were undoubtedly different, he was right. Some things didn’t change much, no matter how many years had passed.

Aiden seethed, seemingly unable to control his anger or use it to his advantage. Isn’t that how Sith harnessed their power? Through hatred and anger, fear and violence? Maybe that’s what’s changed, Vale thought to herself. Perhaps he had begun to put his bitterness to other uses.

For a moment, Vale had almost forgotten the world outside the one where only she and the man she once called her brother stood in a deadlock. There was someone else here in the yard with them, she could feel it, but she couldn’t see them. She jabbed at Aiden again.

“ _Where are they?”_ she demanded, knowing he could reach out with the Force, but Aiden remained sputtering, angry and red in the face on the ground beneath her. She shoved at him again.

“I said, _where are they?”_

Her blood was boiling, and the voice that escaped her throat didn’t feel like her own. Catching herself off-guard, she blanched, shocked at her own words and the seething hatred that fueled them. But just as she came back to herself, she saw Aiden’s face contort with rage, feeding off of her. In a flash of movement, her brother grabbed hold of her shock staff, the electrical current circulating with his own now, and he brought himself back to his feet, sending Vale back.

Staggering, she held her grip as Aiden knocked her back into a cargo canister. She yanked the staff from his prying hands, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she planned to do with it. Aiden stood there menacing, a sickly grin plastered across his gaunt face. It was then that she noticed just how pale he was, how twisted his face had become. His features assumed the sharp angles of the bones underneath, abandoning the warmth they once possessed beneath freckled cheeks that often blushed when speaking with his superiors at the Academy. There was hardly anything familiar about him, and yet, Vale saw a reflection of herself in his eyes, a reflection of something she could have become but turned away from.

Vale caught her breath and pulled her blaster out of its holster just as Aiden revealed his lightsaber, still attached to his belt behind his billowing cloak. She braced herself.

His hand reached for the hilt of the weapon, but before his fingers could detach it fully, a body came soaring out of the air, knocking Aiden to the ground.

The new stranger’s hood fell as she landed square on her feet, immediately assuming a solid Echani stance upon gaining her balance. It was another girl, this one pale and human, short white hair cropped to frame her porcelain face and the fierce ice-blue eyes set in a determined stare.

“ _You again_ ,” Aiden muttered, the words dripping with poison.

Taken aback, Vale stepped away, looking for the Twi’lek – but the Twi’lek found her first.

“ _Explain later, go now.”_

She grabbed her arm again and guided her towards the Czerka station’s back entrance. As much as the girl was right, she wanted to know _what in the hell was going on_?! First the bounty on her head, then the ambush, her _brother_? And who was that young woman? Was she another Jedi? A rival Sith? Who was she that she thought she could take on a man who had just displayed the ability to manipulate lightning? And who exactly was she following anyway? Vale had the feeling that the girl knew Orex, given her liberal use of the word “friends”. She swallowed her reservations, her regrets, and shot one last look back at her estranged brother, still alive after all this time.

Trailing the Twi’lek and droid-carrying Wookiee, Vale hurried alongside them through the Czerka office, ignoring the startled employees as they rushed passed. She heard what must have been a manager call after the men they had sent into the docking yard earlier and call for backup, but they were out the door and rushing into the street before the woman could ask _what under the suns_ they thought they were doing.

The usual afternoon bustle swallowed them whole. Vale looked over the crowd as they ran. Dust filled the sky where her shop had been, and no one other than annoyed bystanders paid them any mind. As far as she could tell they weren’t being followed. For now.

Darting between passersby and around shop stalls, they continued on without stopping – until they reached the docking bay. Just as they rounded the corner, the Twi’lek grabbed at Vale’s elbow, wheeling her into a side-stall. The purveyor, a wide-eyed Duros, glared at them, muttering a few choice obscenities in Durese under his breath before asking if they planned on buying anything with a pained (and obviously faked) cheerful disposition. All three ignored him.

After catching their breath, the only thing the Twi’lek said was, “Act casual.”

The girl squared her shoulders, drawing herself up in height as the Wookiee did just the opposite. He slumped casually beneath the weight of the droid still splayed over his shoulders and nodded in Vale’s direction, urging them onward. The Twi’lek looked at Vale for a reaction. After a moment of confusion, she nodded in haste.

“Yeah sure, whatever.”

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee exchanged glances again before leading the way. The three of them blended in as effortlessly as possible into the milling crowd, the girl fumbling through her pockets like any other spacer with leisure on their side might for her docking pass and ID card. They sidled up to the dock officer, the Twi’lek smiling sweetly.

“Looks like we’ll be heading out now, Miss-” she read the woman’s name tag carefully, “ _Deena_.”

She smiled again, sliding her documentation across the log-in console at the red-haired woman before them, clad in a somber smile.

“Leaving so soon?” the woman asked, sincere. Vale rolled her eyes.

The Twi’lek tried to act as nonchalantly as possible, but every time she steered the conversation toward giving them clearance, the more questions the dock officer asked. It was only a matter of time before she noted the unrest in the crowd behind them, the bounty hunters and mercenaries undoubtedly catching up, and word about the “unsanctioned destruction” of the droid shop reached her ears.

As soon as her documents were scanned and their clearance granted, the Twi’lek swiped her stuff back and shoved them into her pockets as they sauntered onward with a running start.

Vale’s eyes scanned the crowd of departures and arrivals for any sign of Asra, Orex, Darek or Glitch, but it was all a blur. Her new companions seemed equally lost until a comlink buzz from the girl’s belt got their attention. They were still half-running, half-walking as she answered.

Indecipherable chatter erupted from the comm, the Twi’lek shaking it with haste in an attempt to clear the signal. “ _Damn it.”_

“Did you come here on a ship or what?” Vale finally asked, under her breath, trying to sound as nonjudgmental as possible.

The Wookiee growled in response, annoyed, as the Twi'lek explained with worry.

“They were supposed to meet us three loops ago,” she muttered. Vale realized they had been walking around in circles.

Finally, identifiable words emerged from the comm, garbled but clear enough.

“Change of plans, meet us in Docking Bay 94! I repeat, Docking Bay 94!”

It was Asra.

The Twi’lek and the Wookiee exchanged glances just as another explosion sent them forward. Near enough to the blast zone, they tumbled into the passersby ahead of them, the crowd worked into an instant frenzy.

The Wookiee groaned.

“I have a feeling that was _ours_ ,” the Twi’lek responded, pained, but they were running out of time. She grabbed Vale by the elbow again as they ducked under the door with the numbers 9 and 4 poorly plastered above it.

Inside the hangar bay was a vessel far too small for the landing pad, but the image sent chills down Vale’s spine nonetheless. It was one of Revan’s ships. A basic Imperial shuttle, nothing flashy, but she could tell by the armor plating that it had come from the Star Forge all those years ago. Or was the damn thing still suspended in space, churning out ships for all eternity?

The girl rushed Vale up into the belly of the ship, ignoring her wide-eyed stare. She could hardly afford a good look at the thing before boarding the on-ramp with stumbling steps. Before she could ask any more questions, Asra pulled her aboard, taking her hand as she reached the inner belly of the small beast.

“What a day, huh?” the Togruta teased, though the anguish was clear on her face.

Vale nodded, wondering if she had wandered into a dream, as the loading ramp closed behind them.

What a day, _indeed_. And it wasn’t over yet.


	9. The Powers That Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now aboard a stolen Star Forge vessel from the Anchorhead docks, Vale and her crew formally meet their rescuers. Coincidences abound, Vale knows that the Force has something in store for them, but for her most of all.

_3951 BBY, Hyperspace_

 

“So, does anyone care to tell me how you managed to pull this off within, what, _five minutes_ of leaving my shop?”

Vale crowded into the cockpit with the others, shoulders and elbows knocking as the engines revved beneath them. The mystery ship was clearly designed to hold one, maybe two people at most. Glitch manned the controls, her tongue held firmly between her lips in concentration. Orex stood over her, scanning the cityscape as it shrunk beneath them.

Vale couldn’t tell if it was the ship taking off or just her nerves, but her stomach dropped the moment she could finally catch her breath for more than a few moments.

“And whose ship is this anyway?”

“That-“ the Twi’lek started, bitter notes of regret and exasperation in her voice, “is a _really_ good question. But I can definitely say it _ain’t_ ours.”

The Wookiee grunted in rueful agreement.

A blue hand traced the ancient hardware, the Mission's face contorting with concern. She turned to face the Wookiee, who could hardly stand among them, let alone with an HK still in tow. His back arched in an unnatural near-mobius curve, clearly suffering for the lack of space.

“We’ll have to make due for now.”

Before elaborating, Mission looked around, spotting the small cargo bay at the rear of the cockpit and ushered the rest of them inside. There were several small canisters in the adjoining room along with a refresher and a bed built into the far wall. This was definitely a personal vessel.

“You know what this is, right?” Vale asked Darek in a low voice as he ducked into the cargo bay alongside her. He nodded, a dark seriousness overcoming his features. Orex would know of the ship’s origins, too, and it didn’t take Vale long to think of a candidate suitable for the role of its potential owner. The answer only became clearer the more she looked around.

There were several small to medium sized crates piled neatly into the corner, taking up little space, but ancient memorabilia filled the rest of the small chamber, notes and diagrams strewn everywhere. Whoever’s ship this was had to be a collector, and maybe they had docked at Anchorhead to find something specific. Speculation mounted in Vale’s mind, but she’d have to save any half-baked conclusions for later, or at least until she got some _other_ answers, first, and let her muscles and lungs recover.

“First thing’s first,” Asra began, standing between the two strangers once they had all filed inside, save for Glitch and Orex. She pointed to the Twi’lek first, and then the Wookiee, “Meet Mission and Zaalbar.”

Mission shot them a shy wave and Zaalbar shrugged as he finally set the HK down.

“Not sure if you still wanted this,” he whimpered apologetically, the trademark Wookiee gruffness still present in his voice.

“Don’t worry about it,” Vale replied, sparing him a small smile.

“I had the _pleasure_ of going into business with Mission’s brother not too long ago, or at least, I _almost_ did. But Mission, here, warned me about the pyramid scheme he was pulling and gave me a better offer.”

Mission extended a hand and Vale shook it. The girl had a surprisingly firm grip and she flashed Vale a friendly grin.

“It’s the least I could do. Griff _can_ be charming, but that doesn’t make him any less of a liar.”

The girl rolled her eyes at the mention of her brother, crossing her arms across her chest after shaking both Vale’s and Darek’s hands.

“If you couldn’t tell, there are more people interested in you than just the seedy sort who’ll turn anything for a credit,” Mission said, “We were only told to get you out of Anchorhead – _alive_ if possible, given the bounty – and bring you to the Republic.”

“If it’s a Jedi they’re after, I’m not sure I’ll be much help.”

Mission shrugged.

“I don’t know much about it, but I agreed to do this as a favor for a friend. Once it was out that you were in the Outer Rim, my friend sent word. Zaalbar and I happened to be en route to pick up a shipment out of Mos Eisley, so you could say we just happened to be in the right place at the right time.”

 _Right_.

“Tell me about it,” Asra huffed, “Before word reached us about the bounty, _we_ were about to go looking for the Republic.”

Zaalbar grunted, inquisitive.

“We found some… _things._ Old stuff, dangerous. We wouldn’t want it falling into the wrong hands,” Asra explained. “We weren’t sure where else to go.”

Mission looked to Zaalbar, who shrugged back at her.

“Dangerous?”

“Are they _any_ Jedi left? Would your Republic friend know?” Vale asked, her voice low, heavy with unexpected emotion. Vale kept her nose out of Republic business since she was exiled, but after seeing her brother earlier that day, believing him to be dead all these years, she wondered just how much else she wasn’t aware of.

Mission shook her head.

“There _are_ a few,” she replied, looking to Zaalbar as if seeking his approval before continuing, “It’s hard to say. But trust me, this Republic officer you’re about to see? He can help. He’ll answer some questions, I imagine.”

“ _Some_ ,” Vale muttered under her breath, exasperated.

“Who is this officer, exactly?” Darek asked, nursing a stiff knee as he set himself down on a nearby crate.

“I-“ Mission and Zaalbar exchanged looks again, “We can’t say. We’re sworn to secrecy.”

“Secrecy?”

“What’d I tell ya about the day we were having?” Asra griped, nodding at Vale. “Speaking of which, about your ship, Mission-“

Mission put up a hand to stop her, shaking her head.

“No worries, sister. That thing was a hunka junk, anyway.”

“We never did get that cargo so it’s not like we lost any merch, either,” Zaalbar added, grumbling forlornly despite his concurrence.

“Plus, I’m doing this as a favor. I’m sure a new ship is within my asking power.”

“What happened, exactly, by the way?” Vale turned to Asra now, taking a seat beside Darek. It was only now she realized just how exhausted she was and just how much she needed to get straight.

“We ran into these two in the alley, near Czerka. Mission and I recognized each other immediately, and she-“

“Could tell you guys were sneaking around,” Mission interjected, “And it was pretty obvious where you’d come from. Plus, I had a feeling I could trust Asra.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the Togruta added, dryly. Mission smirked before continuing.

“Not only did we need to make sure you got out of Anchorhead, but we had to make sure you knew where to go. Seems we just helped y’all along.”

Vale had no words, her mind alight with speculation. Asra and Mission continued talking animatedly, explaining how they escaped and what had transpired in the past hour or so. Zaalbar fidgeted with the HK’s remaining parts, ridding the thing of any remnant sand, as Darek put a hand on her shoulder after a considerable silence had fallen over them both.

“You okay?” Darek asked, looking concerned about someone other than Asra for once.

Vale retreated from her thoughts, and felt the ship shudder beneath her. She nodded just as Orex poked his head through the cargo bay door, announcing, “We’ve just entered hyperspace.”

“Did you punch in the coordinates we gave you?” Zaalbar asked with a low growl.

Orex affirmed with a nod and entered the room, Glitch not far behind him.

“What happened?” Darek asked again once a relative silence fell over the cargo bay again. Despite the room’s spall space, his words seemed to echo between its walls, or maybe that was just Vale’s head.

“I saw my brother.”

The words felt alien, wrong, almost. Bile rose in her throat, and it took a moment and considerable effort for Vale to push her disgust and her surprise back down again.

“The man in the square,” Darek replied, knowing instantly.

“Who? That guy?” Mission asked, moving closer.

Vale nodded, feeling numb.

“The Jedi?” Orex asked.

He remembered. Vale had talked about Aiden a lot in those days, even if they were at odds at the time, so Orex might remember talk of him. Fighting alongside her mother, it was hard _not_ to talk about her twin. Anyone that had been with her at Serrocco would know who Aiden was. She conveniently left out the part where their alliances didn’t quite align, not to mention his utter disdain for her allegiance to Revan to begin with, but all her mother _needed_ to know was that Aiden was safe and that he was on his chosen path – wherever that led him.

“I have a feeling he’s not a Jedi anymore,” Vale managed to say, “In fact, I think this is his ship.”

“But this is-“ Mission began, looking to Zaalbar, “This is a _Star Forge vessel_.”

“How would you know-?” Orex asked before Vale could muster the words, but the Wookiee roared before he could finish.

Mission hushed Zaalbar’s outburst with a not-so-gentle “ _Hey!”_

He grumbled, reluctantly returning his attention to the droid as Mission seemed to search for the right way to say whatever it was she was thinking.

“You’re, what, twenty?” Orex said, his voice even but accusatory. “When the war-“

“Let’s just say, I’ve _seen_ some things.”

Zaalbar growled again.

“Correction: _we.”_

“Lemme guess,” Asra began, drawling and sarcastic, “You’re not at liberty to say?”

Mission frowned, but eventually nodded.

“I’m not exactly sure,” she admitted. “They weren’t really clear on the details.”

Whatever bad feeling had taken root when Vale stepped foot on Anchorhead spread ten-fold, even more so than her reaction to the sight of the holocrons at the abandoned site. This all tied together somehow. All of this was meant to happen. Her training would tell her that there was no such thing as coincidence, only the Force.

Vale looked at Orex, and despite his frustration she felt as if he was silently reaching the same conclusion. Maybe not anything relating to the Force, but that none of this was a coincidence, and that did not bode well.

“I’m sorry, I _really_ am. All I was instructed to do was to bring you to the Republic.”

Mission’s voice was apologetic but defensive.

“The coordinates I gave your girl were random, or as random as they could be. Even _I_ don't exactly know where we're going,"the Twi’lek shrugged in defeat, "All I know is that once we drop out of hyperspace, we find the nearest space station, and wherever that happens to be, the Republic will be waiting for General Valen to take her to Telos."

 _General Valen._ There it was again. In her mind, Vale always knew who she was and who she _had_ been, but hearing her given name from the mouths of others still set her on edge. It had been far too long.

Mission and Asra continued speaking, Darek and Orex listening on as they recounted their steps back on Anchorhead and discussed the holocrons in as few words as possible to ensure their safe passage. For a moment, everyone else fell away, and all that remained was Vale and the ship.

The damn thing even smelled like him. She could almost laugh. After all these years, she could still detect her brother’s scent, the smell of his hair and the same soap he’d used for years. It was here. _Some things really don’t ever change._ The ship was irrefutably his.

She stood slowly, and began to meander, reminisce.

The crates stacked into the corner were locked. Vale figured she could guess the dolt’s password in a heartbeat. She was always good at that. But instead of hazarding any predictions, she moved on to the diagrams and maps pinned up along a corner of the far-right wall – Aiden’s makeshift “desk”, she presumed.

His handwriting had changed little. Small, uniform letters littered pages upon pages, and she smirked at his enduring preference for paper over datapads. _The Archives are filled with them,_ he’d say, annoyed with her asking, _there’s only so much fluorescent white-blue, or whatever the kriffing color is, that the human eye can take in_.

A smile crept across her mouth at the thought, retreating to memory as it eclipsed her more recent ones. As to be expected, Aiden’s notes pertained to ancient artifacts, asking questions (no doubt, to himself) about origins, lore, and any inherent properties relating to the pieces he outlined in excruciating detail. It was not long before Vale came upon the notes he had concerning the holocrons once buried beneath the Dune Sea, the ones they carried now.

His records spared little information, only detailing the story she had heard upon first arriving in Anchorhead. The only indication that Aiden had known the source of the ruse or the true nature of the crystals themselves was an adjoining sketch of what very much resembled the crystals they found there, only his rendering more closely resembled a modern holocron, or at least some hybrid version of the old and new, with a note attached, reading: _Korriban, ancient, pre-Hyperspace War._ Several question marks adorned his query, but there were no further notes besides.

So, he _hadn’t_ been here for her. The coincidences were piling up by the moment, and it was only a matter of time until he caught up with them, if he really wanted these things so badly. Though his transcripts divulged little, she doubted he knew much more than they did, but it was a start, and yet…

“How are we getting rid of this ship?” she asked the rest of them, completely unsure what the current topic of conversation was now. It was less accusatory and more of a call to action. Whatever talking transpired in the time she contemplated her brother’s things stilled to a quiet, and the others looked to one another for an answer.

“If this is a Star Forge vessel-“ she started.

“It most certainly came from Revan’s Sith,” Orex finished.

Vale faced them now, turning away from her brother’s work.

“Or Malak’s,” she added, though the name felt bitter on her tongue.

“So there are Sith left, but where would they be? Where would they come from?” Darek asked.

 “There always seem to be more of them, no matter what we do.”

 _We_. Vale, of course, meant the Jedi. Goosebumps rose along her skin as she inadvertently slipped back into her old self, unsure if this is what she wanted, or if there was anything she could do about it.

“Doesn’t matter where they came from,” Orex said gruffly, “The Republic can’t have managed to eradicate the Sith after what happened to Malak. Some might have fled, I’d imagine. It could be they who pulled off whatever happened at Katarr.”

Orex shook his head, thinking.

“And who knows what they’d do if we _stole_ from them,” Darek added.

“Or knowingly hindered one of their own,” Vale heard herself say. The thought was fresh, but the idea that by _one of them_ she meant _Aiden_ still felt wrong to her, and unendingly weird.

Nonetheless, Vale raised a hand and watched as her fingers graced the pages of the diagram in front of her, almost as if she were an onlooker watching as her limbs acted of their own accord. She tore the page from the wall, and handed it to Orex.

“He knows about the holocrons,” she said, her voice hoarse and low. “It’s only a matter of time.”

Orex plucked the loose page from her hand, squinting at the paper as if he had never seen anything other than a datapad before - and maybe he hadn’t. After a moment, he looked back up at her, brows furrowed, as he handed the page off to Darek. Asra looked over the Zabrak’s shoulder, glancing at Vale all the while.

Mission’s eyes darted between the three of them, finally settling on Zaalbar as she stated, “I’ll contact my people.”

Her tone was still serious despite the youthful melody of her voice, and the Twi’lek ducked out of the cargo bay and back into the cockpit.

“I don’t like this,” Vale started, “I don’t like _any_ of this.”

“Neither do I,” Asra returned to her side, placing a calm hand on her shoulder like she had earlier that day, even though it felt lightyears away by now.

Vale placed a hand over Asra’s, reveling in her warmth. She avoided close contact with others for a reason, and the reason made itself known like a plague of guilt welling within her. It was borne of an unspoken fear that she would ruin everything, just as she had with Revan and Alek, with Kavar and Atris, with Aiden and everyone else.

It was strange, really, how Vale had avoided making any connections whatsoever for the past nine years, and yet in a mere 48 hours had formed such strong bonds with the people surrounding her that she could not possibly imagine a life without them now. It was not unlike the war. As many memories resurfaced, the feeling of comradery was the eeriest. She made friends easily at the Academy, though the Masters remained wary of her, and the soldiers that fought alongside her were easy to follow her lead. There was never any question. For others, bonds were made as easily as they were broken - but not with Vale, not with _Eden Valen._ Bonds were made for life. She could tell in the way Orex still looked to her for guidance and approval, even though he assumed the role of leader himself now. And she could tell in the way Aiden spoke to her after all this time, after all that had happened. And the silence that spanned the time between.

But this would not last for long. It couldn’t. Nothing ever did.

 

* * *

 

Aiden’s ship yielded little more information in the way of where it had come from, exactly, and who he answered to. All they managed to find during their time in hyperspace were more notes on ancient artifacts, both boring and long-forgotten (as they most often were), and a series of coordinates to previously visited sites – though some coordinates remained encrypted, but for what reason they could not surmise. Vale managed to steal a collection of notes and uploaded as much as she could to her datapad, for safe keeping and further investigation.

Despite what happened at Anchorhead, Vale could not help but feel sentimental. Perhaps it was the fact that she had grown to trust those around her in so short a time and already mourned their inevitable separation, or perhaps it was because she was not quite over her falling out with Aiden and never would be. Perhaps it was both.

Aiden would always be family, if not more than that. He was her twin, and he was once very much her other half. Of all the beings that remained in the galaxy, he was probably the one who knew her the most, despite all that had happened between them. As twins, they had always been able to harness an unspoken insight into the other, as if they knew what occupied the other’s mind, the other’s heart, without ever asking. They just _knew_.

In spite of the all the questions that dogged her, Vale had a feeling she understood Aiden more now than ever before. But now was not the time to dwell on such things. There was work to be done.

Orex pored over what little else Vale could gather from her brother’s otherwise airtight hard drive. She was able to bypass most of his passwords, having guessed their contents within a matter of moments, but the rest of his files were more delicately encrypted, as if he had anticipated her perusal.

“Korriban,” Orex uttered, identifying a sketched map of the main Sith site at first glance, “And _Dxun._ ”

The adjoining diagram outlined the Temple of Freedon Nadd, and the exact altar they had extracted the first set of ancient holocrons from.

Orex squinted at them with his good eye, discerning the notes and citations, but undoubtedly perturbed by the amount of detail divulged.

“We sent these to Revan and Revan _alone,”_ he said gruffly.

“And Revan turned Sith,” Vale replied, “Whatever runoff there was after the war, Aiden must have joined them. This sort of information may have been common knowledge to initiates, or at least easily accessible. Especially since these things were Sith in origin, or so we guessed.”

Vale almost wanted to laugh. Aiden had cursed her decision to defy the Jedi Council, and yet here he was, a loyal follower of the Sith that followed the heretic Revan’s rebellion. If they ever met again, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. She was sure of that.

“So, it’s just as I feared,” Orex muttered, “There are more of them, who knows how many.”

Vale considered him, scars and all. Orex was as ordinary as they came, compared to a Jedi at least. Orex was as far from Force sensitive as you could get without being completely inanimate, and even still the Jedi Code taught that _all_ living things were influenced by the Force, regardless. But from her time with him, Vale knew that Orex relied on his gut and his gut alone. There was no mystical force supporting his beliefs or swaying his actions, and yet…

“I don’t like knowing they’re out there,” Orex replied, as if reading Vale’s thoughts, though her train of thought was easy to guess by the silence that followed, “After what we _saw_ , after what-“

Orex stopped himself. Vale hadn’t been around for all of it. Dxun was a nightmare, but she could only guess what came after or what Revan’s Sith forces were like. She had no idea.

“We’ll figure this out,” Asra rejoined, her eyes eager and alight with determination, “This isn’t over yet.”

 _We_. Vale’s skin warmed at the sound of the word. Moments earlier, she had slipped. She said _we_ , referring to herself and the Jedi, but now Asra said _we_ and she meant _them -_ here, now - and that felt more real than anything Vale had known since the war.

“We’ll have to, the galaxy is in enough trouble as it is.”

Darek spoke this time, his voice soft and soothing. His even tone, though characteristic of the Zabrakian race, was earnest, and it set Vale at ease. There was enough to set her on edge, and the Twi’lek’s insistence on calling her _General Valen_ wasn’t helping any. At least Orex had the sense to continue calling her Vale.

“What?”

Asra’s hand reached for Vale’s arm again, her eyes narrowing with concern.

“Nothing, nothing,” she replied, aside from the abundant _somethings_ that troubled them. It was good to know that the Jedi weren’t the only ones that cared about what happened to the galaxy at large, and that they weren’t driven by doctrines or long-standing traditions to do so. Vale wondered how many more like Orex or Asra remained in the galaxy, veterans or otherwise, but stopped herself lest she become distracted.

“I’ll talk with Mission,” Vale said, “Make sure we’re squared away before we dock.”

Saying goodbye in her shop was unexpectedly difficult, but knowing she’d have to part ways _again_ was another story. Vale swallowed whatever emotion overwhelmed her and entered the cockpit for the first time since take-off.

Mission sat in what seemed like a daze, gazing at the ship’s controls from afar, mouth open in awe. She jerked slightly at Vale’s entrance, embarrassed for a moment before finding her resolve.

“How are y’all holding up?” Mission asked after a moment.

Vale shook her head, looking for the right words. “Good for now,” was all she managed, looking everywhere but directly at Mission.

The Twi'lek nodded in reply, gathering her thoughts and taking a breath before standing up again and looking at Vale straight in the face.

“I never thought I’d see one of these again,” the girl admitted.

Vale looked at her now, cocking her head. Mission shrugged, and after a moment surrendered.

“I saw the Star Forge. I mean, _the real deal_.” Mission laughed nervously, perhaps hoping to ease the tension mounting in her chest. “I imagine you knew her? _Revan,_ I mean."

Vale couldn’t help but smirk, but not because she was happy. She was smug, if anything. _Everything always comes down to Revan._

“Of course,” Vale responded, crossing her arms, looking out at the marble white-blue of hyperspace, “But the question is, how do _you_ know her?”

Mission inhaled, the labor obvious and almost exaggerated as if she needed to gather an extensive amount of energy to tell the tale and buy herself time before figuring out where to start.

“I met her on Taris," Mission finally exaled, "But back then she was going by Nevarra.”

 _Nevarra._ Vale had used that name, too. The girl didn't notice, and Mission continued without pressing the issue.

“I didn’t know who she really was, none of us did. I suspect you heard about what the Jedi did to her?”

Vale nodded soberly.

“She was just, I don’t know, a Republic soldier, trying to do the right thing. She did right by me. She-“ Mission stopped herself, looking away before continuing, “She helped me. She was… she was a true friend.”

Though she had said little, Vale could feel the weight in Mission’s words.

“She has that sort of effect on people,” Vale said, moving closer to the navicomputer on the side wall. Her eyes scanned the read-out of nearby planets, realizing that this was the most she had traveled in quite some time, and wondered where Revan was now. She had been on Tatooine, yes, and Vale had a feeling she was merely following in her old Master’s footsteps. This encounter was only further evidence.

“Did you-?” Mission asked, trailing off before she could finish.

Vale turned to find Mission looking up at her wide-eyed and apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry but-?”

“Did I follow Revan?” Vale conjectured, “No.”

Mission didn’t say anything in response, only cocking her eyebrow in confusion.

“When I knew Revan, she was, I don’t know how else to say it… but she was _Revan_. I followed her to war,  yes. But not after. Something changed towards the end, before Malachor. She wasn't the same. A lot of them weren't.”

The Twi’lek dropped her gaze, inhaling deeply.

“You haven’t said much, but if anything, maybe Revan was more herself after whatever the Jedi did to her than she was before.” Vale wasn’t sure where any of this was coming from. Maybe it was to ease whatever uncertainty plagued the girl before her, maybe she was just guessing. Or maybe it was for herself. “Before they left for the Unknown Regions, Revan and Alek were my _friends._ I trusted them with everything, and they trusted me. But when they came back, they came back with secrets and no intentions of sharing them. With _anyone_.”

Mission locked eyes with Vale again as she continued.

“I always wondered what made them change, what happened to them. I have a feeling that whatever we found on Tatooine has something to do with it. I have no idea how it fits into the puzzle, but part of me just knows. I don’t know..." Vale trailed off, "But you _do_ see why it’s important that we transport this cargo, uh, delicately, right?”

Mission nodded, though she seemed caught in a thought, her gaze not entirely intent while searching her memory.

“We went to Tatooine, too, y’know,” Mission eventually said, “Revan had been there before.”

“We ran into some Jawa not long ago, and they mentioned her as well," Vale added," _And_ the Star Forge.”

The Twi’lek nodded.

“Nevarra- uh, _Revan_ – shared these visions with Bastila. She-“

“Bastila? Bastila Shan?”

Mission’s eyes widened, surprised by the interjection. She nodded, affirming.

Bastila, a few years her junior, had been one of Vale’s classmates - a rival, in fact. While the Masters feared her ability to form Force bonds, they revered Bastila for her gift of Battle Meditation. They were not as different as the Masters made them out to be, or so Vale believed, but despite their similarities, their experiences at the Academy could not have been more different.

“I knew her,” was all Vale managed to say, before asking, “She traveled with you?”

Mission nodded, “We rescued her, actually, though according to _her_ it’s the other way around.”

Vale almost snorted.

“Sure sounds like Bastila.”

The girl sighed, nodding exasperatedly before continuing, “She and Revan shared these, I don’t know, _visions_ of where these star maps to the Forge were, I guess. I think Revan and Malak found them before or during the war, I can't remember.”

 _Star maps_. The Jawa spoke of those too. Vale had known about the Star Forge, but only after the fact, and Alek had refused to tell her the details.

“Were you ever-?”

“I was close with them, once,” Vale said, “but never _that_ close.”

The realization had wounded her back then, but she couldn’t say she was surprised. Revan and Alek had already formed an unbreakable bond by the time Alek had recruited her, and despite their willingness to teach her and call her their protégé, they remained closer with one another, never quite extending the same closeness to her. She craved their approval, and the slight only hurt her further, inspiring her growing suspicions. Yet it was her wariness that saved her. Vale wasn’t sure which was worse.

Mission took her at her word, and did not ask that she elaborate, “I don’t like sounding suspicious about her, I hadn’t been before. But with her disappearing, no word, and then all of _this_ -“ she gestured about vaguely, “I just don’t know. I don’t know if I should even be _telling_ you any of this.”

Vale shrugged.

“I don’t know either, but I then again I don’t know much of _anything_ these days," The bitterness was far more evident in Vale's words than she intended, but it was too late now. “Can you at least take care of these guys? They’ve been through enough hell."

Mission didn’t say anything at first, but she nodded, her gaze intent and understanding. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said finally.

Vale hadn’t thought a lot about any of this on purpose - about Revan, about her brother, about Alek (though she forced herself to call him _Malak_ , lest she get sentimental), about the war, the Jedi, the Force and the unknown plan it had laid out for the universe and everyone in it. Vale couldn’t say that she had been _happy_ these past nine years, but she had managed to find contentment in her time alone. Yet here it was, fast dissolving before her very eyes, and as the coincidences piled up she knew she was never meant to stay away from Republic Space for long. She was right back in the mess.

“About Revan-” Vale began again, unsure of what words might find her lips. Multitudes upon multitudes of questions had hounded her since Malachor, and before, all of them about Revan. Vale couldn’t be sure which one might escape.

Mission looked up at her again, wondering.

“Did she-“ Vale inhaled, “What _was_ she like?’”

The Twi’lek fidgeted with her left lekku, stroking it before placing it behind her shoulder as she searched for the right words.

“I can only speak for myself,” Mission explained, “But she was… she was kind, curious, and infuriatingly stubborn.”

Mission laughed, looking away.

“She understood me, she gave me a chance. She believed me when I said I could handle myself, and she let me. She _trusted_ me, and other than Big Z, no one else ever had. Though, I don’t know how much I’d trust Zaalbar’s _initial_ impression of me, anyway, given Wookiee traditions and life debts and all.” Mission shrugged, “She changed that much, huh?”

Vale nodded. “I was right though,” she managed a small smile. “The Revan you knew sounds more like the one I did.”

Despite everything else still unanswered, a quiet calm settled over Vale as she exhaled again. Mission observed her, smiling in return after a few silent moments.

“She goes by Nevarra now, actually.”

 _Nevarra,_ there it was again. After everything, this couldn’t just be another coincidence.

“Nevarra-?”

“Nevarra Draal.”

Vale’s skin prickled, suddenly cold.

No. Not a coincidence at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the next chapter, we will finally be boarding the Harbinger, and hopefully, by chapter 11 we will see Peragus and the actual beginning of TSL as well. Any thoughts or comments are greatly appreciated, especially since this is my first foray into writing a novel-length piece and I never ever get tired of talking about kotor :)


	10. More Than a Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brianna needs to get out of Anchorhead, as does Erebus. Vale has a plan, though she knows not where it leads. She'll have to trust in the Force, whatever that means anymore...

_3951 BBY Anchorhead, Tatooine_

 

“That was the last I saw of her, Mistress,” Brianna uttered breathlessly over the comm tucked into her sleeve, hoping desperately that Atris could not hear the smile that spread over her face as adrenaline continued to course through her. “I can have a detailed report to you by-“

“No,” Atris responded, her voice brash and even, “I need you to tell me everything. Now.”

“But, Mistress, I-“

Brianna hid in an alley on the fringes of Anchorhead, the tumult still roiling in the city beyond as she strained to hear her Mistress’ voice. It was only a matter of time before she was found. The market center was a right mess, crowded with local law enforcement (or what passed for it, anyway), Czerka officers, mercenaries, and bounty hunters opening fire on one another from the moment the horde got too heated.

“ _I need to know_ ,” Atris pressed.

Brianna ducked on instinct as another round of shots tore through the air, kicking up sand. The firefight was getting closer, and the longer it took for anyone to round up the rabble, the more likely they were to seek refuge in an alley just like this one - if not _exactly_ this one. She winced, eyes flashing before looking at her comm with a knotted brow.

“I-“

She sighed, swallowing whatever argument threatened to escape her throat. Brianna inhaled deeply and started from the beginning.

Brianna had spoken to Atris upon first landing on Tatooine, but had not checked in with her since. None of what she relayed seemed nearly as important as it was for her vacate the premises and leave Anchorhead behind, if they’d even allow her to leave the docking bay. Now was her chance to take advantage of any remnant mayhem to make it off-planet before anyone knew otherwise, especially since there was one person who might want to come after her.

She paused after every sentence, speaking evenly despite her instinct still urging her to flee. Atris remained silent until Brianna mentioned the Force user that confronted General Valen.

“Did they notice you?” was Atris’ only question, still oddly unconcerned.

“To be frank, Mistress, I think the only thing he noticed was my boot coming down on his head,” Brianna answered, smug but serious, careful not to mention the _finer_ details of the fight lest Atris disapprove.

Atris said nothing.

Brianna had only stayed back long enough to make sure that the man was down before pursuing the General and her cohorts again… but the confrontation hadn’t stopped there. Either Atris did not sense the information Brianna withheld or found it unworthy of note.

“Good girl,” she said, though Brianna could not tell whether she meant it sincerely. “Continue.”

“General Valen-“

“Exile, _Exile. Please call her the Exile.”_ Atris hissed almost immediately. Whatever usual calm Atris harbored dissolved. Brianna balked, speechless, while Atris gathered herself and responded after a few moments, now forcefully composed, “You shall refer to her as _the Exile_ , from now on and in any reports you deliver. Are we clear?”

Brianna nodded, taking a moment to realize that she needed to verbalize her understanding as well.

“Yes- _yes,_ Mistress, of course. I apologize, I-“

Atris cut her off again.

“For subjectivity’s sake,” her Mistress explained further, her voice now strained even beyond the natural static of the comm link. “Now, girl, what of _the Exile_?”

Amidst the nearing chaos inching closer to her temporary sanctuary, Brianna recounted the chase through the market and the explosion at the docking bay. The Exile fled with two others, a Twi’lek and a Wookiee, though Atris never asked Brianna to elaborate on who they were or where they had come from. Brianna had followed them despite the frenzy at the docks once the third explosion went off. There was talk of terrorists and some kind of murder plot, but in the chaos Brianna managed to follow the Exile and the others to a strange looking vessel, placing a tracking device on the ascending loading ramp as it prepared for take-off. She would have made her escape then and there, but Atris demanded answers, and the undulating crowd had carried her out of the docking bay and back into the city as she struggled to get a signal.

Atris, again, said nothing.

“Mistress?” Brianna asked after a while, a cloud of sand erupting nearby. She was already inching towards a fork in the alleyway, a hopeful escape, as she strained to hear Atris’ response.

Another beat of silence. Another round of gunfire.

“That is… satisfactory,” Atris finally said. “Continue to the rendezvous point.”

“But Mistress, I’ve already-”

The signal cut out.

Brianna glared at the device as if it might spare her more information, or at least some sort of excuse, but the thing only transmitted static before she felt the heat of laserfire uncomfortably close to her skin.

Nearly singed, Brianna ducked before a shot could do her in. Squinting further down the alley was a mushroom cloud of sand and a mess of motion she figured she didn’t have time to make sense of.

She shut the commlink off as she broke into a run, several figures lunging into the alley, blasterfire not far behind. Reaching the fork, Brianna sprinted left and kept running. Her hood flew back behind her, flapping against the nape of her neck as she ran. The heat from the suns above was harsh, but almost welcome, and the acid now pumping in her muscles as she raced at full tilt felt sweet despite the pain. The smile returned to her face as she made her way back to the docks, breathless, unbidden in spite of herself.

Brianna was no longer alone, but it did not seem to matter. Figures ran passed her, unbothered by her presence other than the fact that she stood in their way. Without having to think, Brianna kept close to the walls as she hurried along, keeping herself as scarce as she could. No one looked back with a second glance.

The closer she got to the market square, the more she could gather about the current state of the city. Whatever passed for law enforcement around here was now roaming around every corner, sending anyone with a mark on their record back into the alleys and backstreets of the city like scrambling vermin, seeking cover or passage out to the desert. Brianna slowed and raised her hood once more, her breath still heavy, blending into the crowd once she reached the entrance to the docks again.

The Anchorhead dockyard was bombarded with people from every walk of life, each of them yelling, demanding answers. Several personnel tried to calm the masses but to no avail. Brianna had no time for this, she needed to leave.

She spun around, facing the haphazard square, still aflurry with fistfights and gunfire.

_Is all of the Outer Rim like this?_

Brianna had traveled a good deal for someone so secluded, but even still, most of the places she journeyed to were remote and relatively lifeless. Most artifacts tended to dwell among the forgotten, and as a result, even when she left Telos she only ever saw her sisters and Atris, save for a few natives local to whatever long-lost site they were sent to scavenge. They would occasionally visit more cosmopolitan areas, but they had not done so in quite some time. In fact, it was only a few years ago that Atris began sending Brianna and her sisters off on their own while she remained at the Academy. This was Brianna’s only foray into the universe alone. And she was already screwing it up.

Again, Brianna was pushed back from the crowd, almost as far from her ship as before. _I_ have _to leave,_ she thought as desperation took hold of her. Brianna looked at her wrist, her chrono-watch displaying the time. It wouldn’t be long before General Valen’s ship docked where it was meant to, and who knows how much time she’d have to catch up with them and _make absolutely sure_ that the Exile made her way to Telos. Those were Atris’ orders, even if the woman had stalled the success of her own surveillance by demanding she report to her _before_ hightailing it off this rock.

Her breathing quickened, a panic rising in her chest as she looked around frantically, searching for a way in.

Elbows knocked, blasters and shock staffs filling the empty spaces between people, threatening to be used. Brianna’s pale blue eyes scanned the crowd again, her heart hastening. She was beginning to feel sick.

Her stomach lurched, the panic taking over. Without thinking she closed her eyes and counted backwards from five. Her breath slowed, counting each second as it passed. And then… she opened her eyes.

Everything was quiet. The world stilled. The heat ceased yet it permeated everything around her. An unseen energy pulsed before her in its stead, like a thrumming heartbeat heavy against a ribcage, and then… it was all over. It was if Brianna had blinked without actually closing her eyes, a moment in time skipping by mistake, an errant glitch in the system.

Suddenly, she felt weightless, almost invisible. She secured her hood and walked onward, as if nothing could stop her this time. No one turned to look, no one tried to stop her. She was like water trickling through the crags in a cave, slithering amid the stones as she became the very space between them.

The heat of Anchorhead emanated around her, resuming in full, but Brianna’s skin grew cold. This was familiar, but _how_? Her mind raced, tugging at wisps of memory that faded before she could grab hold. An entirely different sort of panic welled within her, though she maintained her outer calm, closing in on the docks and what looked like a back way in where no one was stopping her and no one seemed to care.

There would be time to think later, to wonder. Or she could simply forget, she could let Atris’ secret academy swallow her suspicions until they vanished, like the half-dreams and near-memories her mind hungered for now. She’d decide later.

Brianna closed the remaining distance with hurried steps, ducking on the other side of a dilapidated wall before anyone spotted her, as if it was only a matter of time until someone did.

Her throat was as dry as the sand beneath her boots, and suddenly the crowd beyond the wall at her back swelled as if roused. Roused? Or noticed again? Unpaused, wakened from a momentary slumber.

Brianna had read stories of what adrenaline could do to a person, the abilities they were imbued with for brief periods of time, almost as if…

_Almost as if they could use the Force._

She smiled, wistful, but she bit her cheek before it could consume her. _This is silly,_ she told herself, _you’re so stupid._

But despite the voices urging her onward in her head (undoubtedly taking the tone of Orenna, the oldest and the sister least likely to ever _like_ her let alone _love_ her), a twinge of hope remained. Some memory of her mother, whoever she was, whoever she had been. Maybe she had inherited her mother’s gift, perhaps it was something left behind that she could claim. Other than her father’s shame, of course…

Brianna’s hands reached up, assuring her hood remained in place, and stood. Looking forward, she breathed deeply and exhaled with newfound purpose. As much as she wanted to ponder whether this was some sign of Force sensitivity or just the effects of the heat mixed with her own naivety, her ship was nearby and she needed to reach it before she was found, before she could be forced back to wait with the rest of Anchorhead and the mess that threatened to consume it before nightfall.

Part of her didn’t mind the thought of being left behind. No – _staying_ behind. She had a choice, didn’t she?

Brianna proved she could hold her own today, even if her sisters were not there to witness. Atris knew, even if she didn’t have the whole story. For now, knowing was enough. It would have to be. It was all she had.

* * *

 

What felt very much like battery acid pumped through Erebus’ veins even as he paused to catch his breath.

He was safe for now, but for how long, he was not sure. There wasn’t much time.

Darth Nihilus would surely send an envoy after him and his ship – only problem was, Erebus was nowhere _near_ his ship. He could let his ship be found without him inside for his master to find. Here, he could dissolve into the sands of Tatooine, never to be heard from again. But Nihilus hungered, he would find him eventually. Erebus may have been one to lie to himself if only the better to sleep at night, but he was not one to run.

Yet here he was, shipless and sisterless, and with nothing to show for his losses.

The docking bay succumbed to pandemonium around him. Erebus’ ship had been nearby, and he wondered if it was a coincidence that it was _his_ ship that was now missing. But there was no such thing as coincidences, there was only the will of the Force.

He looked up at the Tatooine sky, cloudless and blue, as if to spy his sister staring down at him with a look that screamed _I told you so_.

She _would_ , he thought, despite how much he abhorred the fact that he still thought of her fondly.

 _You’re lucky you still live,_ he might have spat back at her _._

Erebus stood still, his hood drawn as he took refuge in the half-crumbled doorway of what might have been the deck officers’ quarters, the smell of singed datapads and other equipment ripe in the dry air. The dock’s personnel scrambled about, asking anyone who would listen to calm down and gather near the entrance so they could take inventory. This was his chance. Cloaking himself in more than just fabric, Erebus called upon the Force to distort his image, to avert eyes from his figure as if he were nothing more than smoke and translucent waves of heat emanating from the rubble that surrounded what remained the docking bay. As the maddening crowd drew back, Erebus walked on, unnoticed.

In a few moments, he was alone with the ruins and the ships that remained. He could take his pick.

The cacophony of the chaos melted as he walked on, surveying his options – and there she was.

“ _You again.”_

She had come from above, toppling him to the ground like it was nothing, and perhaps it was. Too caught up in his sister and not in tune with his surroundings, Erebus fell without a fight. Before he knew it, Eden was gone again.

The girl put up a decent fight, too, and not just for an untrained Force sensitive, or so he suspected she was. Without exerting herself, the girl kept Erebus down and away from his saber as Eden and the motley company she kept – a Twi’lek and a Wookiee – escaped.

Not that Erebus still had any idea what he might have done with Eden, or _to_ her, but there was no room for speculation now.

The girl had her hood drawn as well, and the Force swelled around her dissolving. She had cloaked herself, too, but her eyes betrayed her, darting around uncertain. Either she was the paranoid sort, or-

_She doesn’t even know._

Erebus suspected it earlier, though he chalked it up to a lack of willing (and living) Jedi, but not a lack of awareness, a lack of knowing what she was capable of.

Back at the Czerka station, Erebus had reached for his saber, but the hilt remained half-buried in the sand, his mind a blank slate for the briefest of moments as if his inner command came to a screeching halt before an invisible wall. The girl’s eyes had widened, though it took less than a moment for her to regain her composure and rightly roundhouse kick him square in the face before running off herself. His jaw still smarted from the swing, but he had to admit it was impressive.

The girl was good, but he doubted she knew of her more _innate_ capabilities.

A thought blossomed, a brief consideration ensnaring him before he dismissed it completely. _I could teach her_. But the answer that followed was a resounding and definitive _no_. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t, nor could he imagine that she’d ever agree. Whatever her motive for being here was, it was in direct conflict with him (and anyone else for that matter), and she seemed determined to keep whatever promise she kept. Even now, she glanced over her shoulder with every tentative step, oblivious to Erebus’ presence.

She drew a small datapad from her cloak, keying in a code. A faint smile spirited over her face as she watched the screen. Whatever it was, she had been successful in doing it. The girl bit her lip and looked around, as if embarrassed that anyone might see. Her porcelain skin blushed a deep, fleshy pink.

Erebus froze, his stomach flipping in on itself as he stood stock still. Her pale eyes passed over him without recognition, and he let out a breath of relief. She shook her head. Pocketing her datapad again, she looked around the dilapidated hangar she stood in, a doorway blocking the ship stationed on the other side. She heaved herself over a low wall of debris, wresting her boots in the crags of the crumbling barrier. Before reaching the top, she looked back – and straight at Erebus.

He did not move -   _had not_ moved - since the girl began to watch her back. Her eyes fixed in his direction, seeing nothing, though they narrowed as if unsure. Her face betrayed an unease that told him, _she knows._ But what she saw, or what she _thought_ she saw, he did not know. He could have sworn she nodded, but perhaps she was just shaking her head, telling herself that it was nothing but a trick of the light. Eden could always tell when he hid, back when they were children chasing each other in the tall grasses of Dantooine. She’d tell him that the ruse was a good one, but if she looked hard enough, she could tell something wasn’t right, that the molecules he cloaked himself with betraying him, completely giving him away. His command of them was not absolute.

He’d improved since then. A lot had changed, but _him_ most of all...Or perhaps not as much as he liked to imagine. He sighed.

Now, the girl paused as she swung one leg over the wall, looking back in Erebus’ direction again. He saw it, then, a small vessel, not unlike his but not nearly as ancient. It must be hers.  With a final glance back, she swung her second leg over the broken wall and disappeared on the other side. Once she was gone, Erebus found himself hunched at the base of the wall, right where she had climbed over it. He watched on as she checked the ship for tracking devices, a pale hand running along the smooth surface of the craft as she walked its perimeter. She keyed into a panel on the ship’s side, a door hissing open as she completed the cipher. The girl slipped inside and was gone, the door hissing shut behind her just as it had opened.

Erebus did not move until the exhaust from her ship threatened to dislodge his hood. The Force still cloaked him, but in his reverie, he would not be surprised if he had slipped completely from cover.

He considered tracking her, despite her efforts to remove any such devices a moment earlier, but found himself too entranced, too curious.

What manner of sensitive was this? Not trained in the Force but well-versed in ways to block it? She had evaded his several attempts to invade her mind but had successfully stopped him from calling upon the Force himself, if only for an instant. The only other person Erebus had known to do that was the man who turned him. _Curiouser and curiouser._

As her ship faded into the distance and the crowd beyond softened to a dull (but still incensed) thrum, Erebus drew his own personal datapad from his cloak, sighing as he keyed the command to his own ship’s tracking device. A series of numbers appeared on screen. Whoever piloted the ship now was in hyperspace, but he had the coordinates to their destination. He could catch up with them if he was quick enough.

The ruins of the southern docking square were soon crawling with urchins in search of a payday, small, grubby hands eager for a find to sell for scraps and bits of food. Erebus scoffed, and turned on his heel. He had a ship to steal, and people to forget about. For now.

* * *

  _3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport_

 

Vale remained on the ship alone as the others waited outside, already discussing what was to happen next. She needed a moment to herself, with her brother, almost.

She had no idea how long this thing had even belonged to Aiden, but it was _his_. It smelled like him, it felt like him, it reminded her of _home_ : humid nights spent kicking one another in the dense jungle heat of the bed they shared on Serroco; the month-long journey they spent almost entirely alone en route to their first Jedi Academy, teasing and chasing one another throughout the passenger transport at the despair of the Jedi Masters that had found them and promised them a better, more meaningful life; the warm sunlight that filtered into the dormitory the twins inhabited in their early years on Dantooine, creeping into their private moments every morning and every evening… it was all so long ago, and the idea of home felt just as far away.

She was at home with Aiden, but since their falling out Vale had only ever experienced it in fleeting moments: in Kavar’s training room, camping out on the front lines with Revan and Malak, seeing her mother again in the heat of battle, and again on Anchorhead with Asra, even if they were only friends for a short while.

It wasn’t as if she’d sought out a new home to replace the one she lost, but she was only now realizing she hadn’t quite felt _herself_ since then, not since her brother began to pull away from her.

It was the jealousy, Master Sunrider told her once - _He wishes he could be as independent as you, not realizing that you still love him and are part of him all the same._ Aiden was jealous he had to share his sister with anyone else and his heart ached at the idea that she could form bonds with anyone other than _him_. They were twins after all, didn’t that count for something? It did, she’d tell him, but it was never enough. That seemed to be a running theme.

Despite what happened back at Anchorhead, she had a feeling. Vale carefully removed an artifact from the munitions pack, placing a palm-sized pyramid gently on her brother’s desk as if it were a paperweight to anchor his old-school drawings and diagrams. But it was more than that. It was a gift, yes, but also an invitation.

Aiden had a memory unlike anyone Vale had ever met, and that memory served him still. His notes were evident of that. If anyone would know about this thing, it would be him, whether the Jedi came through or not.

Vale had more than a feeling, she knew it to be true.

Asra’s voice called out to her, already a spectre as if from a distant memory, beckoning their eventual departure from the boarding ramp. Vale afforded herself one last glance around, taking all of it in, all of _Aiden_ in.

“A Star Forge vessel, huh?” she asked, talking to the ship as if it could answer on her brother’s behalf.

 _All roads really do lead to Revan,_ she thought, the idea bitter in the back of her mind.

It had been a bit of a joke in the Outer Rim, and to Vale even more so, but now it weighed heavy like an omen. Maybe Vale had been collecting more omens than she realized. Bad feelings and artifacts, forever-haunted by Revan’s persistent ghost all the while.

She placed a gentle kiss into the crook of her palm and lazed her hand across the wall of Aiden’s ship as she descended the loading ramp. This was not the end, no. She could feel it. The Force did not speak for her any longer, but maybe she didn’t always need it to. Vale would see her brother again. She would see Asra and Orex again, too. Darek and the others as well. This was by no means an ending, but the beginning of something unlike Vale had ever felt before.

 


	11. Something Nice Back Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erebus receives an unbidden invitation to witness memories he didn't ask to recall, and finds himself asking more questions than he's ready to answer.

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport_

 

"So, what's the word?" Asra asked, leaning on her elbows as Mission took the seat opposite her in the cantina booth. The Twi'lek shrugged, looking none too worried.

Vale watched as the girl assumed a seat beside her Wookiee friend, the bustle of the bar appearing unconcerned with their presence – a refreshing thought after escaping Tatooine.

"There's a Republic Cruiser set for Onderon not too far from here. On a supply run, I think. I organized a pick-up that will make it look like Vale is transporting goods to be delivered to the war effort-"

"The war effort?" Vale barely heard her own words over the din of the bar, and the hood she donned didn't help much. She pilfered one of her brother's spares from his ship as a means of precaution, lest anyone recognize her.

"I'm not square on the politics, but from what I've heard?" Orex started, nursing his drink, "Onderon is plagued by some kind of civil war."

"Royal affairs gone rotten, I take it?" Asra smirked sourly into her cup before taking a sip.

"Something like that," Mission said before looking pointedly at Vale, "Listen, this ship – they're not gonna know who you are, and they  _shouldn't_ know you are."

"So who am I supposed to be, exactly?" Vale asked, careful to hide the agitation rising in her throat. With her past aliases out in the open, she'd have to reinvent herself completely to go unnoticed. She regretted the thought, but she had come to  _like_  being Vale, and she wasn't ready to start being someone else.

"They're sending over documents now," Mission answered, motioning towards Zalbaar to hand her the datapad in his hand. She drew up a map as she continued, "I'm supposed to pick them up, somewhere around…"

The girl's fingers maneuvered around the map like lightning, zooming in on their location and scanning the nearby areas in search of something familiar.

" _Here,"_ she pointed to a warehouse not far from where they had parked Aiden's ship, "You're supposed to be some, I don't know, important diplomat or something. Oh! That reminds me –"

"What?" Vale pressed once Mission failed to elaborate, rummaging through her pockets.

After a moment, the Twi'lek produced a credit chit from her utility belt. She smiled.

"We get to go shopping."

 

* * *

 

Fingers fumbling over unfamiliar controls, Erebus brought the clumsy vessel he was now masquerading as his own down onto the sorry state Space City seemed to be in these days.

 _Space City,_  he scowled,  _what_ dolt _thought this was a fitting name?_

Erebus knew the answer to that, of course, having made it his business to know  _everything¸_  but that didn't mean he approved of it, so to speak.

Space City was also known as the Nespis VIII Spaceport, though no one ever actually called it that. The sprawling city was constructed sometime around the dawn of the Republic, and 25,000 years ago, well, the concept of  _space_ was still new to anyone who was lucky enough to venture out into it. Erebus imagined the shocked faces of the ancients if they could witness his annoyance now, inconvenienced by the unfamiliarity of the ship he now piloted despite its ability to grant him the gift of space travel, almost aggravated with the modern metropolis that loomed into view ahead of him, unimpressed the marvel of it all.

_Why here?_

Erebus' unease mounted as he neared, the spaceport slowly eclipsing any glimpse of space or the planet beyond. The Force was leading him somewhere, but in order to go forward, he first had to go  _back._

A lifetime ago, Erebus stepped foot on the orbiting city with wide eyes and a heavy heart, afraid he'd never see his mother again. It was his sister who urged him onward, awed by towers that rose high into the azure sky as if their steeples were close enough to prick the nearby planet Nespis. Even with his sister's confident hand in his, he trembled in the shadows of the spires that towered over them. He had never seen anything so tall, and the murals were even worse. Before being assigned to the Dantooine Enclave, the twins were brought before the local Jedi council that sat on this city's temple board, being the closest one to Serroco. But in order to get to the temple, they were first ushered passed the monolithic depictions of the still-recent Great Sith War that snaked their way through the city, as if warning what might become of any prospective Jedi should they stray from the Order's righteous path. Faces resurfaced in his mind. Erebus shuddered as if looking upon them once more - not as himself now, but as the child he once was.

Erebus nearly ignored the comm requesting his ship's credentials. With half a mind, he didn't bother searching for the proper forms and instead reached into the well of his disquiet and persuaded the officer to let him pass. By the time they caught onto the ship's missing data, Erebus would be long gone, and this hurtling mass of garbage would be ownerless once more.

Impatient, he parked the stolen spacecraft in a commercial lot, uninterested in securing a private bay. As soon as he was planet-side, he drew the datapad from his cloak again, tracking the coordinates back to his own ship. It wasn't far, only-

"Mister Aren Valen," a modulated voice rang in his ear once he reached the main hub of the docking area, surrounded on all sides by shop-stalls, monetary exchange stations, and all manner of prostitution milling about in search of a spare credit or a free ride off world.

Erebus stopped mid-stride.

"Excuse me?"

Normally, he would never stop for a droid, let alone  _anyone._ But that name…

"Mister Aren Valen, your ship is ready."

Giving it a good look now, Erebus looked the outdated protocol droid in the eye, reaching out with his senses to see if it was somehow prompted to address him as such. The droid stood expectantly, seemingly untampered with. It flexed its joints, impatient, as if avoiding the need for an oil bath while waiting for his reply, anxious that Erebus agree to follow it.

Whoever programmed this droid did so the old-fashioned way, but even then, there was only one person Erebus knew with such a knack for droids.

"Right this way, sir."

 _Aren Valen._ Erebus had not heard that name in years. In fact, he had only ever heard the name maybe twice in his life. Aren Valen was his father, though the man had disappeared before he could rightly form memories. Erebus was almost named after him, but was instead named after his grandfather, Aiden. The names were not dissimilar, but the blow had been an obvious one, or so he had overheard once upon a time.

The droid ambled onward, looking back periodically to make sure that Erebus followed. Still eyeing the readout of his datapad, Erebus watched as the droid drew him nearer to his ship's location.  _Aren Valen, Aren Valen, Aren Valen._ Another clue. Another step back bringing him forward.

It had to be her, it just had to be. Only Eden would know.

The droid led Erebus to a closed landing pad on the far side of the starport, turning around as they approached the gate. Bowing with the typical flair of protocol ceremony, the droid thanked  _Mister Aren Valen_  as the gate opened and allowed him access. Just as soon as Erebus muttered a reply, the doors shut swiftly at his back, leaving him alone with his ship.

The hangar was far too large for the vessel, but there it stood, pristine and perfect as if it had been churned out of the Star Forge anew, not salvaged from the wreckage at Malachor V. A soft chiming emanated from his datapad, bringing Erebus out of his reverie. He had reached his destination, and if the melodic alert wasn't enough, the screen also glowed a soft green, pulsing gently. If it weren't for the readout, he may have actually questioned whether this  _was_ , in fact, his ship. It was as if it were brought back from the dead.

Erebus knew better, though. With enough credits, the thing could have been fixed up good and proper. The only reason he hadn't done it himself was because of where the ship had come from and he couldn't afford anyone asking too many questions. Plus, he had no use for money other than to fuel his research, so why bother? Especially when he could take his pick of the moon's wreckage. Thousands of flightworthy ships remained abandoned on Malachor's surface or forever hanging in its orbit. Not to mention, Erebus was too busy to concern himself with such things. His work-

 _My research_.

Snapping back to his senses, Erebus rushed aboard the ship, careful to check its every crevice and corner for a sign of something stolen. He raced to the cargo bay and the desk he had there, his notes now neatly piled and stacked alongside his collection of datapads and holocrons. They had been scattered haphazard before. Someone had surely been rifling through his things, and even at a glance Erebus could tell it wasn't all there, but then - there _it_ was.

Approaching the surface of his workstation, he saw it: a small onyx pyramid, like the one in his sketches. There had been pieces of a broken few on Malachor, no explanation or means of origin attached to their remains. The records there were vague but had detailed the location of several settlements where the artifacts might be found - Tatooine being one of them.

This was it, this was what he had been looking for. Or at least, partly.

Erebus' skin grew cold as the realization struck him.  _This is it,_  he thought,  _this is what the Force wants to show me._ It began with his work, leading him to his sister, and yet… his sister drew him right back. It was all connected… somehow.

He extended a hand, gently laying a finger on the smooth surface of the object, so small and unassuming, and yet the moment he made contact, everything went dark. His senses blinded, his limbs stiff, and his eyes rolled back into his head. And out of the darkness, a voice spoke as images dredged up from the depths of his memory.

_We feed the Force and Force feeds us._

The voice was singular yet multiplicitous at once, and all together unfamiliar - but the images it showed him were not: a man, woman, and a child looked over what appeared to be the edge of a crib at him and Eden - his mother and who he assumed was his father watched on, but the child was unfamiliar and open-mouthed under a mop of messy hair. The moment dissolved until only the jungle remained, the already-warm air hot with blaster fire as the fighting drew nearer, his mother's comforting embrace pulling his young body from the danger as two strangers approached them and extended welcome hands from beneath heavy robes. And then Erebus was eight again and crying in his dorm on Dantooine, his sister holding the projected holovid of their mother in her trembling hands as she told them their grandparents had perished in a raid, tears streaming down her face. He blinked and he was older now, wandering amid the white-blue glow of the datapads that populated the Jedi Library on Coruscant, his eyes watching sidelong as Master Kavar approached Master Atris, speaking in hushed tones, their faces pale, blanched as if they'd seen a ghost. He turned to put a datapad away, only to find the library gone and his hands bloodied, his knuckles bruised and throbbing as a man with a wicked smile circled him in a dark alley, begging that he hit him again, and again,  _and again_ , a crimson crag of blood running down the side of his mouth like a wound. Erebus wound his arm back and readied a swing but darkness descended and all that remained was the space between stars and the  _feeling_  of Nihilus, the hunger that persisted, the pulsing energy that filled the room when he entered, as if all those present were plunged into the hollow stomach of a ravenous beast.

_We control the seeds and tell the roots where to grow._

The stars dissolved, Nihilus' yearning making way for something Erebus had no words for, something somehow  _less_  than nothingness. He was weightless without concept of weight or being, as if he simply just  _were_  - and then the universe blossomed before his eyes, atoms bursting from an unseen bud, collapsing and colliding in a kaleidoscope of chaos.

_Feed our Empire and you may live on forever._

Erebus' eyes shot open.

He stumbled back and shut his eyes once more, beckoning that the images, the feeling,  _anything,_  return.

A flicker of an image – grey eyes set in stone, reflecting the sky and the stars above – and then nothing.

 _Breathe,_ he reminded himself.  _Just breathe._

Inhaling, he counted to ten, and exhaled. He felt like a child again, overcome with emotion and told to control himself. He could hear Master Atris repeat the exercise in his head, though now it was difficult not the hear the hypocrisy in her voice. When Erebus regained control, the anger remained, but it was welcome. At least some emotions were good for something, now.

Vexed, violated, and indignant, Erebus drew himself up, his back straight.

As the anger coursed through him, something told him to seek out  _fear_  - specifically, the fear that still lingered here.  _Grey eyes set in stone…_

He was Nihilus' no longer. Erebus was his own man and if he had a death wish, well,  _so be it_.

He left his ship alone in the hangar, and if his Master sought to claim it, he'd be waiting.

 

* * *

 

"Thank the  _Maker_ , that robe was awful," Asra whistled, surveying Vale as she stepped out of a makeshift dressing room in the din of the motel suite they shared for the time-being.

"I feel… weird," was all Vale could say, pulling at the fabric clinging to her legs. She was used to tight-woven clothing, anything that would keep the sun and sand out. But Mission's contact had already chosen the regalia of some nearby Outer Rim world for her faux-diplomatic jaunt to Telos IV. Vale recognized the styling, too – it was common to see travelers from the Anoat Sector sporting cloth of maroon, blue or gold, colors also often found in gambling sectors as the shopkeeper affirmed. The fact that the garb was easily recognizable would allow anyone noticing her to instantly make an inference and look no further. That was the idea, at least.

"Not looking bad yourself," Vale finally said after adjusting the sleeveless cape that accented her outfit, still unused to her skin's ability to breath when clothed.

Asra turned around, smirking, putting on a show.

"I'm a doll, aren't I?"

Asra sported outdated Republic fatigues, not uncommon for this part of the galaxy. Now that Asra and the others had been seen with Vale, there was no knowing who might recognize them.

"I don't envy you, though," the Togruta admitted, slipping her headdress off and placing it in her pocket. "A pantsuit would not have been my first choice."

"I didn't even  _have_  a choice!" Vale countered, unable to keep the smile from her voice.

She punched Asra playfully in the arm before ducking back into the adjoining room. Vale sighed, still anxious as she secured her old clothes and her brother's cloak in a rucksack. She had no use for any of this, though she imagined she'd ditch most of it when she got the chance. Her boots and her utility belts could come in handy, especially once she shook the sand out of them, and part of her wanted to keep Aiden's cloak for reasons that were not exactly practical.

" _Hey,"_ Asra's voice came from the other side of the door after a few moments, "You okay in there?"

Vale sighed, still holding the cloak in her hands, feeling the texture of the fabric under her fingertips as if it might tell her something reassuring.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

The door opened, the air hitting her back softly as Asra entered.

"You don't sound alright," she said, taking a seat on the bed beside Vale's bag, "I mean, I don't expect you to, but…"

"Are  _you_  alright?" Vale asked, looking up at Asra until their eyes met. The Togruta met her gaze before looking away, watching her feet shuffle on the cheap rug as she sat on her hands uncertainly.

"Not really. Not that Anchorhead is any sort of ideal location or anything, but I was getting comfortable there. I liked the work I was getting," Asra explained, her honey-yellow eyes surveying the room and looking anywhere but straight at Vale, "It was… I don't know,  _nice_  having a routine for once."

"I never thought to ask before, but, " Vale began, already unsure of whether she should even broach the subject given her own feelings about such questions, "What did you do before? Where were you?"

Asra shrugged and sighed, not as if she were dodging the question but looking as if she weren't sure where to start. She narrowed her eyes, still looking about the room as if the answer might be written on a panel somewhere.

"Well, not to say that I didn't wonder, but I had a mind that it might be a sensitive subject – " Vale explained herself further after a few moments of silence.

To fill the quiet, Vale began folding and unfolding her clothes, separating what she wanted to keep and what she was to get rid of in two separate piles as Asra gathered her words.

"I was  _displaced_  to put it lightly," Asra eventually said, "The Outer Rim was a mess. Still is, and hell, it probably always will be. But back then it was even worse. We-"

She paused, looking at Vale this time. Vale held her gaze and did not waver, waiting. Asra continued.

"We kept moving, from place to place, from planet to planet. It was weird not having a home at first, but then it just became… the  _norm_. It got to the point where sticking around became the strange part, and we itched to get moving again. Word of the war spreading only set the fire to our-"

Asra stopped again.  _We. Our._ Asra had a family once. Vale only had an inkling of what that might have been like, but more so what it would have been like to lose.

"It doesn't matter now, just…" the Togruta looked at her now, a bittersweet smirk crossing her face, "I was getting used to sticking around again."

"Me too."

The words were new to her, though Vale had known it for some time, and they felt natural as she spoke them. She had  _settled_ on Tatooine. She had a shop, she had a clientele, she had…  _friends_. She had Asra.

"Y'know, I think you're the first friend I've had since…" Vale paused, combing through her memory, "Actually, I'm not sure I've ever had any friends."

"Oh,  _come on_ ," Asra argued, "I'm sure everyone you've ever helped out here would consider you a friend. Friends aren't always pen pals, y'know."

"So how many friends do  _you_  have?" Vale challenged, leaning over and nudging Asra in the shoulder. She smiled.

"This isn't a contest!" she stifled a laugh, "But I mean it. I've heard people talk about you, about how you cut them a deal when the seasons were rough, or how lenient you are with payment installments-"

"Oh  _stop_ , you know I'm not in it for the money."

"Hello?!" Asra raised her arms, indicating at nothing and everything at once, "That's all  _anyone's_ after. Just look at-"

"The price on my head?" Vale finished. Asra's expression soured, her smile fading and her arms descending to  _thunk_  mutely on the old mattress beneath her.

"Well, there's that."

When she saw the leak, Vale knew Atris had been behind it. She wasn't exactly sure how or why, but she knew. As for the money, though… what would Atris need with credits? She was frugal, like any Jedi, uncommitted to things of material value. So where did the 50 million credits factor in? Perhaps it was jut incentive, and yet-

"Listen, you have more friends than you know. Or at least, not  _everyone_  in this galaxy wants to kill you."

"Because 'friends' and 'people who don't want to kill you' are synonymous, right?" Vale joked darkly.

"In some circles, yes!" Asra sighed, pushing herself off the bed so she could pace around the room. "The Outer Rim's a rough place."

"I was born here, y'know," Vale said defensively.

"You're gonna  _die_  here, y'know. Convenient." Asra laughed.

"Aren't we all."

Asra cocked her head, confused, as if the line of hypothetical joking ended there.

"It's all Revan's fault," Vale continued, "She brought the fight the Mandalorians wanted and never finished it."

Asra shrugged, agreeing, still pacing around the room.

"I take it you knew her well."

" _Oh_ , I knew her. Or at least," Vale swallowed, "I thought I did."

The pack before her was now overstuffed, and hardly any of her old belongings laid on the bed beside her to be discarded. She upeneded her duffel and started over.

"Then again, I'm not the only one."

"I guess that's not uncommon," Asra said, "I've met plenty of spacers disillusioned with her. And Malak,"

Asra stilled, looking at Vale for a reaction.

"I mean, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"What?"

"I don't know, you just-" Asra crossed her arms over her chest, "Didn't sound like you had the best relationship with Malak either, when we were back on the crawler."

"And you're telling  _me_  I have friends out there?" Vale managed a smile.

"Oh, come on. I meant that."

Asra continued pacing again, and more aggressively this time, her step quickening and her stride lengthening with every rotation.

"I know you did," Vale admitted, "But I can't say anyone I  _believed_ to be my friend didn't turn on me at one point or another."

She was tempted to use the word 'betray' but something didn't feel right about it. Everything that had ever gone wrong with someone in Vale's life felt like some huge misunderstanding, a miscommunication of enormous proportion

"Well, except for you."

"There's time yet," Asra chimed, joking, "Everyone's bound to disappoint at one point or another."

"That's not the same thing…"

Asra laughed.

"Maybe I need to redefine 'disappoint' and what it means in my own personal vernacular."

"I think I need to redefine a lot of things," Vale admitted, looking at her sorry excuse for luggage as an endless barrage of questions circled in her mind, unanswered, "But first, I intend to find whoever invented the pantsuit and ask 'why?'"

Asra's eyes did not meet hers this time. Her eyes glazed over in thought, staring at some indiscriminate corner of the room, but she smiled, already looking rather comfortable in her Republic fatigues.

"I expect a full report, agent."

She looked at her now, and Vale could tell the smile did not meet her eyes, a certain unspoken sadness muting their usual warmth. Vale smiled back at her, but she expected she looked the same.

 

* * *

 

Erebus' memory served him well. Passersby slipped by him in a blur, until there were none to pass him at all. As the temple neared, the crowd thinned, and Erebus was alone.

 _As it should be_ , he thought, the district near derelict. The temple  _would_  be deserted, with most of the Jedi gone. This place was as good as cursed and the ghosts of Exar Kun and Uliq Qel-Droma watched over the Order they helped put to rest.

The mural was just as large as he remembered, if not even more monolithic. Once-noble knights, Kun and Qel-Droma, stood down as if they were facing Erebus and his eager eyes, answering to  _him_  and him alone, not the Jedi Council of old. It was near some fifty years ago, now. Exar Kun and Uliq Qel-Droma turned from the Jedi and waged war upon them, just as Revan and Malak would not long after. Erebus knew their story and its every detail, if not for his obsession with facts but for Master Atris' obsession with righteousness.  _They_ were the reason Revan and Malak's plea for action was ignored.  _They_  were the reason the Code was rewritten and kept straight to the  _tee_. It was because of Exar Kun and Uliq Qel-Droma that Erebus was even ever interested in history, in fact. As much as their visages haunted his younger memories, he was endlessly fascinated with their story, with the idea that they could commune with a spirit through the Force, that they could carry a conversation with the dead  _at all_. And it was when Erebus fell that he began to wonder how Freedon Nadd managed to live so long and inspire those even after he was dead. And it was an interest in Sith artifacts that led him here now, were it not also for the urging of the agent who turned him to his dark path.

The temple stood beyond, quiet and seemingly abandoned. What happened at Katarr likely wiped out what remained of the Jedi -  _those fools_. Yet still, Erebus wondered what remained.

Erebus looked up into the spectral eyes of Exar Kun, his lightsaber raised in defiance of the Jedi, who were now as good as extinct for all eternity.  _Grey eyes set in stone._

A childhood fear took root again, emerging from memory and welling at the base of his chest. He thought of those same grey eyes the night they came here all those years ago, and for many nights after. He was almost terrified to become a Jedi, fearful of the man made from glass, the man from the mural. Erebus did not recall when the nightmares ceased and Exar Kun let him rest. Kun may have been dead, and Erebus may have slept soundly, but Sion knew his horrors more intimately than that. Darth Sion was borne of Kun and Qel-Droma's war, fueled only by rage and pure hatred, his skin and his soul first ravaged by the Great Sith War and every battle he waged after, long after those dark disciples perished.

There were echoes of Kun and Qel-Droma even now, though dead some twenty years. The Jedi knights before him had learned all they knew of the Dark Side from a ghost, after all. There was nothing to say that their spirits did not dictate the fate of the galaxy still.

Erebus shivered, ice traveling the length of his spine and back again. And then his senses prickled. Movement behind him, eyes watching, a finger held precariously over a trigger as it was pressed gently to his neck.

Electricity sprung to Erebus' fingertips, his adrenaline returning.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

A hand grabbed his, immune to the energy coursing over his skin, and twisted it back.

"We just have a few questions, if you don't mind," the voice drawled casually, "If you would just follow me."

His unseen assailant pushed him forward, sending Erebus stumbling onto the crumbling steps of the Jedi temple. He dared a glance backward, but only found a hooded figure swathed in white.

He thought of the white-haired girl from Anchorhead and how she had blocked his ability to use the Force, how she had unwittingly used it without realizing. But the woman behind him now was too reliant on her blaster pistol, her fingers too poised, her body tense and ready to react. She didn't have what the girl had – yet like her, she was Echani. That much was clear. But who she was and why she was here…

Erebus raised his hands in surrender, complying. The hooded woman nodded and urged him onward, up the steps, and for what purpose? Erebus would soon find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: So it seems that getting to the Harbinger is taking more time than I ever anticipated. I feel like for where I want this story to go, that this buildup is necessary, and that might become more apparent in the next chapter especially. But as usual, any comments, corrections/criticisms are more than welcome! Thanks to those of you that have read and commented so far :)


	12. Means to Uncertain Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the coincidences continue to mount, both Vale and Erebus feel as if they are getting closer to something.

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy_

If Erebus was anything, he was curious. Perhaps too much for his own good. But if there was anything he  _wasn't_ , well, he'd like to think he wasn't stupid.

He could list several people who might say otherwise, but Erebus couldn't afford to heed their projected voices at the back of his mind, especially not with the Echani prodding him with the nose of her rifle. With one hand held firmly at the base of Erebus' left wrist, the white clad woman urged him onward and up the steps of the temple, her stun gloves threatening another jolt of electricity through his veins. Erebus jerked just enough to appear at a loss, as if he were quieting his nerves, and played along.

Hazarding a glance skyward, he locked eyes with Exar Kun, now made immortal in mosaic.  _Grey eyes set in stone._ Memory tugged at the corners of his brain, the visions from earlier leading him just as much as the Echani was. He would let the woman think herself powerful for now. He would submit, he would obey, or at least appear to. He would answer every question and draw out every breath. He was sent here for a reason, and for his never-ending curiosity, Erebus was set on finding out  _why_. The ghost of Exar Kun meant to show him something, or at least the Force told him that much.

The steps to the Jedi Temple were worn, crumbling in real time beneath his boots as if they waited for this precise moment exercise their symbolic dissolution, to ensure that Erebus would see it and take note. Yet his eyes did not leave Exar Kun's, only breaking away from the Dark Jedi's stoic stare when the approaching vestibule of the ancient academy blocked it from view.

Not that Erebus had any preordained idea of what it would be like to enter a Jedi Academy after all this time, but when the  _wrongness_  of it washed over him, he knew he shouldn't have been surprised. A breath escaped him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, his Force Sight taking over almost instantly. A ghost of the old temple imprinted on the sight before him: where a fountain once stood in the center of the antechamber was now a crater, filled with debris, still-water brimming over the edges of what remained; in the great room, a transplanted garden was laid waste to laser scoring and the indistinguishable forms of burnt bodies; and in the library beyond, the shelves were empty, void of any light.

The Echani was pushing Erebus now, uncouthly escorting him past the grisly remains into an adjacent chamber, what may have once served as a reception hall where delegates or common folk waited to be granted audience with the residing council. A series of chairs lined the walls and a broken holo-tree flickered in the corner. If Erebus had to guess, it was perhaps one of the few rooms left relatively untouched, housing nothing of value.

Another Echani woman greeted them, only nodding as they entered. A pile of datapads stacked precariously in her arms, she must have just come from another part of the temple, taking inventory.

"Found another one," the woman at his back said, her voice stern. "Shall I place him with the others?"

The woman across the room studied him, her eyes scanning his frame from top to bottom, making mental notes as she went along.

"Of course, but Mistress will want him questioned," she said, her voice somehow more authoritative than the woman at his back, "Orenna's in the library."

Erebus watched, silent, soaking it all in. What sort of operation were they running here? And what stake did the Echani have in the Jedi?

The two women nodded and Erebus was shoved again in the opposite direction.

"I didn't realize being a tourist was so controversial," Erebus said, feigning a nervous laugh.

His legs stiffened as his wrist went slack beneath the woman's grip, trying on an air of uncertainty, though he couldn't say he wasn't flummoxed as it was.

"So, it's true then? The Jedi really  _are_  gone?"

The woman shoved him over the threshold of the antechamber and towards the library, unamused.

"I should be asking you the same thing," she muttered, her grip tightening on him. A neural shock coursed his veins, and this time Erebus didn't need to feign surprise.  _So, they don't know._

Erebus eased into a fumble more than he otherwise might have, flinching even though he wasn't sure if the woman was watching. Quickly recalling whatever he could from the vessel he arrived in, he fabricated a story, shallow and vague enough to be believable, so it didn't appear he tried too hard, yet detailed enough that he might go unquestioned, at least not any further than the Echani was intending. An eidetic memory was good for more than just research.

"In here," the woman ordered, shoving Erebus again. Passed the antechamber, the library stood beyond, wreathed in shadow. Whatever was of use here had either already been plundered or counted and packed away as inventory as these Echani seemed to be doing. Another one of them presided over this room, her fingers dancing across a datapad as she took what Erebus could only guess were notes.

There were no datapads in this room, save for the one in her hand, and all that remained were an odd assortment of old artifacts, ancient in origin, yet familiar somehow.

Erebus sized the woman up as she side-eyed them in return, registering the arrival of her colleague beside her as well. Her face was the same as the one before –  _sisters?_ – and Erebus wondered if the woman behind him, his hand in her vice grip, looked the same.

"Another one?" she asked. This must be Orenna.

The woman behind him nodded, her fingers flexing over the skin of his wrist again, though another jolt never came.

"Ariana is still scouting the city limits," she said as the woman in front watched on, her gaze careful as it traveled between the two of them. "I take it Irena is with the others?"

Orenna nodded, her gaze returning to her work.

"I need to finalize the last of the inventory, so she's taken over questioning. We are expected to leave within the next standard day. This wasn't meant to take this long, and now that the Ex-"

She stopped herself.

Erebus could see the frustration cross her face, a brief flicker of emotion threaten her outer demeanor.

" _Make it quick,"_  she reconciled.

"Will do," the woman at his back affirmed, urging Erebus onward again.

The women nodded in unison, and Erebus noticed now how very much  _like_  and  _unlike_  they were from the girl at Anchorhead. Was he just being dense? He had to admit, he knew little of Echani breeding characteristics or how their genetic code worked, though he knew enough about their fighting style. Still, it was odd to see this many Echani  _anywhere_ , let alone a few that happened to look nearly identical.

But the girl at Anchorhead was just that -  _a girl_. These women were older, not just in appearance but in the way they carried themselves, how they spoke. Perhaps he was still smarting from how the girl had bested him. Maybe she  _hadn't_  been all that young. But still…

"If we find them, we find them," the Echani named Orenna called after them, "If we don't, then they really  _don't_  want to be found."

"Understood."

Who didn't want to be found? Who were they looking for?

Erebus had questions, but it appeared he'd have to answer theirs first.

 

* * *

 

 

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, City Limits_

Being alone was something new, something Brianna was unused to. Atris would call on occasion, demanding updates, reminding her to send detailed reports, as if the calls weren't enough. There was an edge to her voice Brianna was unfamiliar with, though it was far more welcome than the heavy silence often found when in the presence of her sisters. At least here she was asked for, she could prove herself without worrying about the judging eyes following her every move, their discerning looks almost one in the same and nearly identical, their irises a shade more violet than her slate blue.

"Anything she does, anything she says, I need you to tell me," Atris told her in the span of a breath, "Spare no detail, and call her  _the Exile_."

Brianna had been careful to refer to her as such in every account and every briefing, but she did find herself slipping, referring to the woman as  _the General_  in her mind, or  _Vale_. It was difficult, listening in on the woman's conversations and hearing everyone else call her by one name but forcing herself to use another. Had she lost the privilege of a name in her exile? Brianna knew the feeling, and now more so than ever. She may have been alone, but here, she could be just that -  _Brianna_. Not  _the Last Handmaiden_ , not  _Yusanis' bastard_ , the  _runt_. In time she may no longer be lesser, but not yet.

As alone as she was, listening in on the Exile's conversations made her feel less so. The Exile and her crew slept in shifts, and they were always on the move. And even now, when Brianna might otherwise be sleeping, they were relocating.

It had only been one standard day, but Brianna had somehow yet to fail when it came to tracking her quarry and the ragtag crew that followed.

They never signaled it verbally and it never mattered who was on watch. They remained at their first location for three hours, their second for twelve, and now after ten hours at their third hostel, the Exile and her conspirators, whoever they really were, were on the move again.

Since they slept in shifts, Brianna hardly had a chance to sleep herself. Atris had provided her with a device that could read heat through walls and translate what might otherwise be garbled rubbish into audible words from meters away, durasteel be damned. The thing was ancient, and odd - perhaps something from her Mistress' stores, though something Brianna had not the chance to study herself, despite the hours she liked to spend alone in there, studying to her curious heart's content. It fit comfortably in her hand, a slab of what might have otherwise looked like transparisteel or a broken shard of glass, resembling more of the latter. It was uneven, jagged, and indiscriminate – all the better for concealing. Having not truly rested since Telos, Brianna reclined with the device in her palm, gently cradled against her ear. With the heat sensor off, the audio receiver remained enacted, feeding whispers and words into her tired ears.

The older one and the girl spoke in hushed tones, and even as they continued their conversation, Brianna sensed something. She dreamed lightly, images playing across her closed eyes, but even as she rested, her sleep was a shallow one. The device whispered all the while, as if dictating her dream, but then – why could she see the others moving? Bags slung over shoulders? Furniture set back into place?

Brianna stirred, blinked, and reactivated the heat sensor. Sure enough, from the opposite side of the wall, the Exile and her crew were readying themselves to slip away into the night… or early morning, Brianna wasn't sure how long this station's cycles were just yet, or how they worked.

Gathering her things, Brianna made a few mental notes, preparing herself for Atris' inevitable check-in call. They were moving quickly, but discussing nothing of merit. The soldier and the girl were still talking about identifying forged Republic documents, as if the older one was quizzing the younger, and the others said nothing. The room emptied and the party filed down the hall adjacent, the one conversation continuing casually all the while.

She waited a beat, her blood pressure rising as the readings disappeared from the sensor all together. Brianna needed to give them enough of a head start not to notice her tailing them, and she had been careful enough to change her garb once she came here as well, swapping out her rough-spun brown cloak for a sleek, black one. Her reflection in the mirror greeted her with a newness that excited her, but she had enough sense to pull her hood farther down her face before exiting her suite, noticing that the pale of her skin clashed with the darkness of the fabric haloing her.

Hurrying down the hall and the steps beyond, Brianna kept glancing at the device in the palm of her hand, waiting for the readings to pick up again. Other heat readings glowed on the screen, but Brianna had programmed the thing to track the Exile and her friends specifically, alerting her with a thrumming vibration when they were within range again.

Bounding down the steps now, Brianna's palm gripped the device, still feeling nothing.

_No, no, no._

She hadn't waited longer than the last few times, they shouldn't have gotten too far.

Brianna nearly burst through the side exit at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes scanning the crowds in the city below for blue or red lekku, a burgundy head laced with horns, or even the Exile's messy mix of a blonde and black-haired bun.

Her blood ran hot, her nerves on edge.

 _They're around here, somewhere,_ she told herself over and over again, studying every face and every shadow, careful to hide her own visage beneath her hood. Distracted and near-distraught, it took a few minutes of frantic searching before Brianna realized it was raining.

Looking up, she blinked a few droplets from her eyes, indignant and angry that even the weather would work against her now.

_Shit._

She'd heard other spacers use the word, and even as the blasphemous term crossed her mind, she recoiled at her own profanity.

As much as Atris might have reprimanded her and her sisters berated her, a sense of relief washed over her as she realized that neither were here, and that the former had entrusted such an important task to her. Her and her alone. And she was  _blowing it_.

" _Shit,_ " this time she muttered it, shouldering her way through the crowded streets.

Her sensor was filled with red, heat surrounding her in every direction. She looked from her palm to the crowd, finding nothing, and losing hope.

"Wonderful."

Brianna kept moving, unsure of where she was or where she was going, only aware that she was  _looking_  and trying not to appear so anxious while doing so.

A jolt. Brianna's eyes dashed to her palm only to find the shard flash with green light for but a moment before dissolving to red again.  _They're nearby._

With her hood carefully covering her brow, her eyes scanned the crowd again, a faint tremor teasing her palm before she could take a look, always a moment too late. She was on their tail, at least.

And then… a flash of white.

 _White_?

Without thinking, Brianna spun around, her eyes fixated. A white hood, drawn like hers, dissolved into the crowd just as quickly she spotted it.

She shook her head, looking instead to the device in her hand as it vibrated again. Green figures swam across the clear screen, her palm glowing beneath the otherwise transparent surface. They were headed back to towards city perimeter, where they had first docked their ship. They hadn't combed through this part of town yet, Brianna only just realizing they were rounding back around through the East when they had first wound around the West side upon arriving. It was in moments like these that Brianna could hardly understand herself – so quick to lose herself, her inner-compass sometimes non-existent when in other far more fleeting moments it appeared like a second-sight, as if she could conjure a blueprint to appear in her eyesight, a ghostly map overlaid all else within vision.

And there it was again – white in here periphery. The flash of a cloak, whipped away by the wind and her slow reflexes.

Nothing.

Perhaps she was paranoid, her mind making something out of nothing, almost as punishment for being so comfortable here otherwise, alone and unbothered. All she needed was her objective and Atris' orders. If she could keep this up, maybe she didn't need anything else, or would at least forget to want it.

Her palm pulsed again.

Brianna blinked and there they were again, now ducking into a nearby alley.

Darting through the crowd again, Brianna pressed on, denying her senses and anything else that might tease her periphery. She saw it again -  _white cloak, white hair -_  but she ignored it, if not willfully but for the scene unfolding before her. The Exile and her crew never stopped moving, but in their advance two of the figures held hands, an object passing from one to the other, hands clasped in darkness and wreathed in rain, before one of the pair disappeared on the other side of the alley alone. The rest stooped under cover of canopies, shanty shacks lining the wide berth of the backstreet as they disappeared into the din.

Brianna glanced at the device, watching on as one green figure continued forward while the rest climbed into the apartment complex beside her. Within the span of a moment, Brianna registered what happened and followed the lone figure, hooded, but was for sure the Exile. She continued onto the docks, stopping only once to grab a drink at an express bar by the dock registry, trying to act casual.

Brianna stilled, almost afraid that she was found out. After losing them, finding the Exile seemed almost too easy. But the look on the woman's face told her otherwise. Once under the awning of the compact cantina, she extracted a leather strap from her cloak, running her fingers along the edges and the crystal embedded in the center until her order arrived. She nodded, and began to sip in silent contemplation.

Master Atris had taught Brianna and her sisters how to make themselves invisible, and one of the best ways to lose yourself in a crowd was to become "just another patron". Without lifting her hood, without making eye contact, Brianna slid into a seat at the end of the bar, placing two fingers out on the counter until the cool edge of a drink met her skin. Without looking at it, Brianna slipped the device into her pocket, feeling the thrumming vibration against her thigh. It was almost calming.

She pulled out a data pad, reading through the latest news as she watched the Exile in her peripheral vision. The woman drank in silence, staring straight over the barkeep's shoulder, either lost in thought or studying the bar's stock. She lifted her wrist and looked at a sleek silver band dangling from it. A small holodisplay emerged over her skin, the numbers disappearing as soon as they were read.

 _She's waiting for something_.

Brianna nursed her drink as best she could, wondering what she was missing by not following the others but knowing those were not her orders. The Exile waited, and waited, and with a drink or three, Brianna lost count, she checked the time every ten minutes or so.

She seemed so…  _normal_. But didn't everyone else? Brianna had watched old footage of Revan, of Malak, some recordings of the other Dark Jedi Atris warned her of in her training, should a Jedi ever fall again… and she had watched the Exile being… well,  _exiled_. It was a recording Atris liked to use as an example, above all the others. Brianna and her sisters would watch on in wonderment, appalled at the woman's indignation, her gall, her absolute disregard for authority and the mercy she was shown as she destroyed the pillar at the center of the council chambers. Brianna hated to think of it, an artifact defaced. There was a fire in the Exile's eyes, an anger, and though there was something there in the Exile now, Brianna felt only… determination, worry. But perhaps that was because the woman wasn't being watched, to the best of her knowledge. She wasn't being judged. She was in her own world, lost in thought, waiting for something that did not rely on the people milling about her and the girl watching on all the while.

 _That is what makes people dangerous_ , Atris had told her,  _when they are calm and complacent, when you believe they are your friends._ Her Mistress had told them of her time as the Exile's teacher, when they had been close. Sentencing the Exile was both the easiest and most difficult thing Atris ever had to do, her Mistress admitted. It was easy because she knew what had to be done, yet difficult because the truth hurt her, but it could not be ignored. Just as Brianna was held to a different standard than her sisters, she understood. She was the result of a transgression, a breach in tradition. Brianna would not make the same mistake, and she would make up for the one her father burdened her with.

The Exile looked at her watch one last time, this time looking to the crowded sky afterwards. A mess of speeders and other transport were either zipping their way about the cityscape, docking or taking off. Watching from the corner of her eye, Brianna could not pinpoint exactly where she was looking, only that it was  _up_.

The General –  _Exile_ , she internally corrected – downed the remains of her cup and rapped her fingers against the glass in rhythm, counting. When she reached sixty, she pushed away from the bar and began walking again.

Brianna looked about, checking that the coast was clear – and it wasn't.

Another set of blue eyes stared back at her from across the marketplace surrounding the docks, only these eyes were more violet than hers.

"Nice to see you're doing well, sister."

"Arianna."

Brianna's voice caught in her throat, almost unable to utter her sister's name.

"Shall we?"

Arianna hooked her arm in Brianna's as she began to shadow the Exile as she had intended, and  _expected_ , to do alone.

"What are you-?"

"Mistress sent us, of course," Arianna answered curtly, "Not bad."

"Not-?"

" _You_ , dear sister," she said again, "You've done well."

"Mistress did not send you here just to check on me," Brianna began, though she knew not how to continue. To her relief, Arianna continued finishing her thoughts as she already had been.

"She sent us, yes, but oddly enough not for you," she mused, following the Exile all the while. She flashed a holocard at a dock officer as they passed, the uniformed woman's eyes scanning over the two of them before nodding and allowing them passage.

Brianna glanced at the holocard before Arianna could pocket it, her sister's face plastered across the thing in translucent pink and blue, the Nespis Police seal stamped at the bottom.

"Odd coincidence really, though Mistress may explain more later," Arianna began, sounding as condescending as usual, "We're here on our  _usual_ business. You just happened to be here, as well."

"The  _Exile_  just happened to be here," Brianna corrected, swallowing whatever anger rose at the back her mouth like bile, "Are there more artifacts here?"

At this last question, Brianna felt foolish, unable to hide her excitement. Arianna nodded, smirking at Brianna's emotional display, however feeble.

"There are Jedi artifacts everywhere," she said, "But yes, that is why we are here."

Arms still linked, Arianna tucked Brianna's elbow tighter against her, and nodded ahead. They stopped in their tracks as a crowd, perhaps a family, made ready to board a shuttle nearby, helping to mask their presence somewhat. Several yards away, the Exile nodded to a pair of Republic officers and handed over a set of documents, part paper, part datapad. The officer on the left tucked the paper into what must have been a manifest while the other scanned the datapad. A captain came up behind them and shook the Exile's hand, both their smiles formal and void of warmth. Brianna could feel the device in her pocket hum against her thigh, still set to read the Exile's movements and pick up on her voice, but without it close could not hear a single word spoken.

"Looks like you've completed your mission, little sister," Arianna grinned, a  _genuine_  smile this time.

Part of her wanted to argue, a sense of pride rising in her at the accolade, angry that her sister would belittle her like this. But there was warmth in Arianna's eyes, a softness she had not seen since they were children. A look not unlike one the Exile's Togruta companion gave her as she had observed.

Brianna bowed her head slightly in thanks, but was careful not to let too much emotion play over her face.

"I'll make sure to tell Mistre-"

Brianna stopped her, raising a hand.

"No, I will tell her. I was ordered to provide a report."

Arianna let go of her sister's arm, watching her, impressed.

"So be it," she said, now swallowing her smile. "You may join us if you like, back at the Jedi temple. You can contact Mistress there."

Brianna thought for a moment, wondering if she should depart on the ship Atris provided instead. But a Jedi temple, full of artifacts ready for indexing? Making up her mind, Brianna nodded, and allowed Arianna to lead the way, as always.

 

* * *

 

 

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy_

When the first Echani warrior led him away to the adjoining room, he was alone. Save for her, at least. The room was dark and his hands bound. He made every effort possible to sound inconvenienced, even though the Force kicked in to make up for his senses the moment they walked into the room.

It was a training hall - or had been, once.

He could feel the size of the place, the loftiness of the room's high ceilings, and the way it dwarfed him and the woman at his side. This was the point, he remembered. The Force was larger than the self, he could recall Master Dorak saying. Almost every aspect of a Jedi Academy was built to reflect that and remind the Jedi, save for the older temples in the more remote corners of the galaxy, as well as those forgotten, beyond the realm of the Republic. Erebus had only found one, though he planned to find more.

The woman wrestled with Erebus' wrists for a moment longer, and checked his pockets, sliding her gloved hands along the length of limbs to ensure that he carried no weapons. She faltered at his waist, but Erebus jerked, feigning discomfort from the touch of her stun glove.

"Watch it," she warned, patting him down but exploring no further.

Erebus winced, and nodded.

"This way."

Beyond the training room was another, and beyond that, what looked like an annex, or perhaps  _this_  was the true archive. The room Erebus had spied earlier bore few datapads, scraps of ancient paper littered across the floor, but this room was near full, and far larger than the last.

She led him passed the main entrance, weaving through shelves until they came to a set of tables and an access station, the console set to sleep mode. Another woman stood behind the controls, looking bored.

"Another one?"

"Another one."

Erebus was shoved into a chair at the main table, his knee hitting that of the man sitting across from him. His eyes were bright, skin pale and hair blonde, but his clothing mussed, and something didn't add up. Erebus looked away as quickly as he made eye contact, settling into his chair as best he could with his hands still bound.

"Thank you, Ursa," the other woman uttered as the woman at Erebus' back made her leave. "Stay close, I have a feeling about this one."

The last bit was muttered under her breath, whispered just as the woman he now knew was called Ursa crossed the threshold into the dark of the training chambers again. Even though he wasn't looking, he could see her nod and look at the back of his head. She agreed.

Almost shyly, Erebus looked back up at the man in front of him. His hands, too, were bound. Even with his arms behind his back, tucked awkwardly over the back of the chair, Erebus could tell the man's shoulders were broad. He had the look of an athlete, but not one in practice. Unable to get more of a read on him - the man's face was hidden beneath a sheet of flaxen hair - his energy was surprisingly…  _calm_. Collected. Erebus matched his mood, calming himself as he continued to play along.

So, they suspected him more this other spacer, huh? By the looks of himself, he couldn't blame them, but he hadn't come here to  _act_  of all things. There  _was_ something here, yes, Erebus could feel it. But he'd have to play the part.

Here's to hoping the man whose ship he stole didn't have too much of a record…

 

* * *

 

 

_3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Nespis VIII Spaceport Docks_

Vale couldn't sit still.

Pacing her cabin, she examined the contents of her duffle, laid out across the once-neat surface of her modest bed: Her old clothes were in a pile, dumped unceremoniously as a reminder of where she had been; several trinkets, or whatever they were, salvaged from the site in the Dune Sea – onyx pyramids of varying sizes, though each of them could fit comfortably in the palm of a human hand; a pile of notes and datapads filched from Aiden's Star Forge ship, along with a few choice notes of her own regarding the ship's make and model as well as the contents of his cargo hold; the munitions pack with the stored crystals; the remains of her emergency pack (rations, a blaster pistol, an extra set of clothes folded as compactly as she could get them, and a pre-paid credit chit); and finally Asra's leather bracelet.

Vale picked up the leather cord, running it through her fingers now as she examined her inventory. Still clad in her clingy pantsuit, she walked the length of the room with the cord in hand, giving each item a moment of her time.

Item one: Her old clothes, sand still clinging to the seams – Tatooine. Like many of the other places Vale had ventured in her exile, Tatooine had something to do with Revan, but what made Anchorhead different was that it was hardly touched by the war itself compared to her other Outer Rim haunts. A brief altercation had occurred there, if she remembered correctly, but nothing big enough for the holorecords to remember. And still, that wasn't the visit Vale was interested in. According to the Jawa, Revan had been there before, in fact, not too long before she had. According to Mission, she and Revan visited Anchorhead in search of the maps that would lead them to the Star Forge, which was new information to Vale. She knew about the Star Forge and the mystery of its location from the war, but she didn't know one of the maps had been near Anchorhead. Not only that, but the Jawa referred to Revan being accompanied by a "dark one". When Revan and Malak had first gone there in search of the star maps, they had certainly been influenced by the Dark Side, Vale's hindsight was sure of it. But to call Revan by her name and Malak as "dark one" was a bit strange. Had Revan returned? Did she know about the abandoned site Vale and the others had found?  _The people of before left mechanical maps, but the dark one left something_ else, they had said. The _thing you carry is dark and dangerous, like them. The one called Revan came looking, too._

But that's also what brought her to item two: the onyx pyramids.  _Dark and dangerous_. Like the contents of the munitions pack, there was something  _off_  about the small ornaments, each oddly perfect and mesmerizing, simultaneously attracted yet immune to sunlight. They hadn't found any such items in Freedon Nadd's temple on Dxun, but they bore some similarities to the holocrons they found at both sites. Unlike more modern Sith holocrons, these artifacts did not need to be accessed or "unlocked" before potentially drawing their viewer closer to the Dark Side. Vale didn't know much about it back then, and had the items sent to Revan. No news came from it. And now, more than ten years later she discovers there are more, with the help of an old comrade no less, and soon discovers that her brother (who was a  _Jedi_ , last she heard) appears to be an expert on the subject – well, somewhat.

Aiden's notes lay beside the trinkets and the munitions pack, detailing other Sith artifacts. Many had similar features, each bearing certain trademarks. Vale had learned a bit about such Sith items in her training, but only enough to know how to either avoid them or destroy them if need be - and even then, many Dark Side items had failsafes built into their design to preserve them. After all, what else are all Sith after if not self-preservation?

Vale wasn't sure if Revan meant for it to be this way, but despite her failings and her publicized redemption, if she did anything right as a Sith Lord, it was making sure the galaxy did not forget her – Vale least of all.  _No, not Vale,_  she corrected.  _Eden._

And then there was the name Mission said Revan had adopted, the identity the Jedi gave her, Nevarra Draal. Even thinking of it now sent a shiver down her spine. The Jedi must have truly thought her dead if they imagined using an alias of hers was wise. She admitted it made sense. Both she and Revan had similar features, though it hadn't been apparent to her until now, until she revisited her old "looks" when Glitch found the post about the bounty on her head. Both Vale ( _Eden_ ) and Revan had almond-eyes, pointed ever-so-slightly upward, especially when they smiled. Vale's eyes were narrower where Revan's were wider, easier to trust. Their faces were oval in shape, their cheeks high and sharp and their jaws defined. Vale had a face (and a neck, shoulders, and arms) covered in freckles where Revan had a modest sprinking over her nose and cheeks, a few on her collarbone. But when done up as "Nevarra Draal", ex-Republic scout, or whatever her old alias read as, their eyes swathed in ochre, their hair pulled back in messy braids and beads, they could pass as sisters if not the very same person. Vale wondered if Revan had been from Serrocco, too. So many children had been displaced by the war and taken in by the Jedi before they grew too conscious of their generosity. It was not strange to think that Revan may have come from the same planet, perhaps even the same village, or at least one surrounding the same port as the one Vale and her brother grew up near. There had been others at the Academy, why not Revan?

But no, there was something else. Vale could feel it. She wasn't sure of it yet, but she knew it meant something. It was why she left Aiden's ship under the name of their father, Aren Valen. Nevarra Draal had been his sister, once, their aunt. Vale had few memories of her and the wife whose name she took, Teran Draal, the two young women watching over them when their mother would work. They were still very young, but some of her fondest childhood memories took place at their house, playing in the yard and dreaming of the jungle beyond, admiring the way Teran's hands worked the soil to make food and flowers grow, listening to Nevarra tell them tall tales of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel Droma. Aiden loved those stories, even if they terrified him. He'd wake her in the night once they were home again, shaking her until she listened intently enough about how Exar Kun spoke to him in his sleep and asked him to run away, to come find him and put his wandering soul to rest.

There were too many connections. Revan, Tatooine, the holocrons, the Sith, her brother… even the fact that she had found her first Sith holocron with Orex at the Temple of Freedon Nadd was too much of a coincidence for her – it was Freedon Nadd who turned Exar and Ulic to the Dark Side to begin with, right?

Vale stopped pacing and sighed, her chest tight. Looking down at the leather cord in her hand, she admired the roughness of it, the softness it had earned from use. Asra could have been a friend – no, she  _was_  a friend, and Vale hadn't even allowed herself to admit it. More than anything, she wanted to tell Asra everything, she wanted to explain all of this to someone and have them  _see_. But see  _what_  exactly? In telling Asra, she perhaps just wanted to feel less alone, but if she really wanted to figure things out? She'd need to talk to her brother.

There was no way of knowing whether he had taken her invitation, though if he had at least received it, she knew he was clever enough to guess what it meant. In leaving the ship in their father's name, she hoped he understood it was a truce, as a sign that "whatever's happening here, it's bigger than the both of us," but it still had to do with them, it was tied into their family, their history at the Academy, to Revan. If anyone would know anything, or at least where to start, it would be Aiden. Vale could only hope he'd accept, and answer.

Aiden, like the rest of the galaxy, may have seen her exposed records. Perhaps he, too, would make the connection when he saw her doctored files, especially the one masquerading as their perished aunt. That's why she used her father's name to lure him, to clue him in. And maybe in digging a little deeper, he might find that Revan was somehow involved, too.

How? Vale wasn't sure yet, but she was intent to find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! This chapter had gone through about 4 different versions before I settled on this one and decided to do something a little different with Erebus' plot and introduce some original elements of my plan later on. Now that Eden is finally on the Harbinger, the action will pick up again across all parties. Now that I'm reaching TSL territory, most of the plot will follow the game but hopefully given the new elements I introduced (mostly for the benefit of the post-TSL story I have planned) it will not be a straight game-to-fic retelling. As usual, any comments/criticisms are most welcome


	13. Second Selves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vale and Erebus are not the only ones forced to masquerade as someone else as events unfold.

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy_

In the moments it took the Echani to cross the archive and approach him again, Erebus drew up what he could remember about the pilot whose ship he stole, dredging up whatever details his mind found worth storing. Despite his usually near-eidetic memory, the images his brain conjured were weak. Though anger often fueled his more brilliant bouts of genius, as a Sith would, it seemed his frustration upon leaving Anchorhead was enough to cloud his recollections.

 _Smuggler. Thirty-something. Human. Untidy. Broke… like every other smuggler in this damn galaxy._ But there were a few things Erebus remembered that stuck out.  _Wyland Rhel_ , as he was called, was a fighter pilot during the Mandalorian Wars and had continued working for the Republic until the middle of the Jedi Civil War –  _Wonder what happened there?_  Since then, he'd been taking contracts transporting fuel, mostly, but occasionally ran jobs with the Golden Company. A hefty contract, and a risky one. All of this Erebus gleaned from the man's records of payment, which were the only thing he seemed to keep in any kind of order. The data file was easy to break into, so Wyland Rhel was most likely sentimental and all the more stupid for it - after a basic search, Erebus found the date the man had been recruited by the Republic on official record. So despite his current affiliations, Wyland was still sweet on his time as a soldier, it seemed. Either that, or it was the only date in his life, other than maybe his nameday, that meant anything to him and was worth remembering. Among his affects were other IDs, either stolen or forged, undoubtedly used for more  _delicate_  operations. That was about all he remembered.

The woman approached the table again, though did not afford Erebus another glance as she nonchalantly flicked through the datapad in her hand.

"So, who are you, another scavenger looking to collect?" she asked almost absently.

 _Depends on how you define 'scavenger'_ , Erebus thought,  _because you're not wrong._

"I take it you're Irena," Erebus chimed back. "Charmed."

The Echani's eyes flashed before she calmed, a gloved hand flexing as he circled him, the other cradling her datapad.

"I'm sure one of the others spoke of me, though who we are is none of your concern."

"Yet I seem to be of some importance, I take it."

She scoffed and glanced down at the datapad again.

"We're running a simple background check, is all," she assured him, the calm in her voice wavering as her patience began to wear thin.

"And the Echani have authority in the Nespis System since…?"

"That is none of your concern," she smiled sourly, though she kept her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her this time. "I will be the one asking the questions."

"Alright, so I, a humble Republic citizen, is expected to blindly submit my rights to you because…?"

Normally, Erebus would never be so outwardly snarky, at least not in a position such as this. He was used to speaking with out-of-touch tribes, distant planets far-removed from the Republic or hapless traders who knew nothing of their older wares, and other such ilk. He knew enough to stay away from civilized space when he could, and if he had business here he knew who to avoid and how. But even still, this woman was  _Echani¸_  not a beat cop with something to prove.

At this she smiled, though the pain was clear on her face. She was not trained to deal with the likes of him, at least not in a civil manner.

" _It really is none of your concern,"_ she said again, her teeth near gritted.  _What had her so rattled that Erebus barely had to try to get to a rise out of her?_  The man across from him let the subtlest of snickers escape his mouth but otherwise betrayed no emotion, looking down, letting his hair mask his face like a veil.

"Alright, alright, just making sure my rights as an honest to Force citizen weren't being taken for granted," Erebus huffed, finding that his voice took on more of a drawl the more he kept going. "How long's this gonna take? I have places to be."

Erebus recalled several military grade crates at the back of the ship when he boarded, his Force Sight granting him view of an array of weapons within. Weapons trade was big money, so however broke this Wyland Rhel was now, he wasn't supposed to be for long. So much for that.  _Wonder how that sorry smuggler's doing now…_

Irena looked him over, seemingly unimpressed but still suspicious. She wasn't buying it.

"And yet, for someone with a busy schedule you still found the time to scope out the sights, I take it?"

"Thought I could score a few extra credits, something to sweeten the deal."

He hoped he sounded convincing.

"Wyland Rhel, thirty-six," Irena started, looking over the edge of her datapad at Erebus, "You've grown paler since your photo was last taken."

The woman turned the datapad so Erebus could see, the screen displaying a man with scarred but dark skin, the color of rich mahogany.

"Can never be too careful," he said, not too suddenly, "Dig even further and you'll find the ID where I hail from Ryloth. Record says I had my lekku cut off."

Erebus chuckled to himself, as if impressed, having seen other men do the same at countless cantinas across the galaxy. As much as he loathed the quality of the drink there, they were the best places to get information. In fact, it was how he learned about the site at Anchorhead.

Irena rolled her eyes and kept scrolling, looking nonplussed enough with the uncanny ID photo. To think the smuggler had several IDs in rotation was not unusual, especially given the rap sheet Erebus' own sister sported now, and for all the galaxy to see. It wasn't exactly a red flag that Erebus himself might be lying.

"Not exactly what I'd call a clean record," she said after a moment, reading the remainder of the file in pensive silence, though it seemed she found nothing of note – or at least nothing surprising.

How  _did_  these Echani get in good with the Nespis Police Force? If they had access to their files, could bar anyone from the premises of a location, and a Jedi Temple no less…? Erebus knew that there were people other than Nihilus who would be happy to see the Jedi gone, but at least he knew  _why_. The Echani were not on good terms with Revan after the Civil War, but that was just one Jedi, and by then Revan had already turned.

"It says here you worked with the Golden Company."

At this, she smiled wryly.

"Unfortunately, everything on the premises has been turned over to  _us_ , so if you were planning on-"

Irena was cut off by a comm at her wrist, static warbling the otherwise unperturbed quiet. Even the man across from Erebus stirred. He stole a glance, before the man could see, taking in his young face and the lone swipe of dust across his brow, marring his otherwise crisp and chiseled appearance _. A scholar, perhaps? A civilian?_

"Yes?" Irena lowered her datapad with one hand and brought her other wrist to her lips, speaking directly into the device attached to it.

More chirruped warbling – that's when Erebus noticed the glint in the woman's ear, just beneath her cropped white hair. Whoever was speaking to her was speaking in code, their words filtered to sound like gibberish to anyone else within earshot.

Irena's eyes shot to Erebus as she listened, her gaze sharp though her eyes narrowed. He couldn't tell if they were always this bright of violet or if it was just the wealth of datapads gleaming in the room that leant to their almost ghostly glow.

"I'll keep an eye out," she said finally, her eyes never leaving Erebus. Their eyes locked, and she moved towards him, pocketing her datapad and unsheathing a retractable staff from her belt.

"Don't move," Irena warned, "We have eyes on you.  _Both_."

The man across the table looked down again, as if embarrassed by being called out, and Irena began staking out the series of shelves that surrounded them.

_A breach of security? Another unwanted guest?_

When Irena was far enough, Erebus relaxed a little, letting down his outer guard to unleash the Force within. After a moment, he could see the archives in his inner eye like a blueprint laid out before him. Stacks of datapads and artifacts surrounded them, some pulsing with more uncertain energy than others. Erebus' blood quickened, his skin growing hot, already desiring to peruse the temple's stores or what remained of it – if he could somehow get around the Echani lockdown, that is. At least without seeming  _too_ suspicious. Perhaps his vision led him here to find something, to bring something back. Perhaps there was another pyramid, another holocron, another clue.

"The Golden Company, eh? You a  _scavenger_  as well?"

Erebus broke out of his reverie, surprised to hear someone other than Irena talking irately.

The man across from him finally spoke, his voice just above a whisper, but pleasant and calm. Erebus gawked for a moment before composing himself, surprised to find a friendly smirk on the young man's face.

_A joke. He's joking._

"The lady pretty much spelled it out, didn't she?" he drawled again, almost forgetting his made-up persona.

"Right," the man laughed, his eyes twinkling as he gazed about, almost unbothered by the restraints on his hands, held tightly against his back. "I figure they can't hold us for long. Even the Nespis authorities wouldn't be able to do this. Unless-"

He stopped himself, laughing lightly. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the corners.

"Never mind," he said, "Say, can I- can I ask you something?"

"Can't stop you from asking but that doesn't mean I'll answer," Erebus quipped.

"Have you seen-" the man looked around and lowered his voice, "Have you come across any  _other_  artifacts?"

"Other?"

"Other than Jedi."

_So, the Golden Company deals with Jedi artifacts._

"You mean,  _dark_  artifacts?" Erebus couldn't bring himself to say  _Sith_ , as if he would unwittingly out himself.

The man nodded.

Erebus wracked his brain again, recalling a few contracts for ancient scrolls and antique weapons under Wyland Rhel's Golden Company contracts, but nothing that screamed  _Jedi_ , or  _Sith_  for that matter. He had heard of the organization but only knew that they dealt in rare, high-end goods, often "off the record" and to the highest bidder, whether they be aristocrats or crime lords. If they were after artifacts pertaining to the Jedi or the Sith, things could get… complicated.

Before he could worry, or wonder how he might undermine the group somehow, the man before him spoke again.

"Anything like a holocron? A crystal?"

The hair on the back of Erebus' neck rose.  _Eden's gift_.  _His work on Tatooine. Grey eyes set in stone._

"Something like that," he answered, "Why, there something here?"

"Perhaps," the man's blue eyes widened, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth. "I'm a bit of an enthusiast."

"Well, this  _would_  be the place to find one," Erebus answered, though he knew somewhere like Koribban might yield more Sith relics than this place. But the man wasn't wrong, and Erebus hadn't lied, either. The Jedi were known for collecting artifacts pertaining to the Sith, both modern and ancient, in an attempt to prevent such things from falling into the wrong hands. As an historian, Erebus thought he might wait before attempting to break into any one of the remaining Jedi temples, knowing they wouldn't be abandoned, or at least believing the Order wasn't stupid enough not to leave anyone behind. He had visited Coruscant and Lothal, and both locations had sentinels still on watch, but he might have underestimated places like this, forgotten cities like Nespis already on the cusp of oblivion.

"I have it on good authority that something originally from Onderon may be here. I figured if the Golden Company sent a, er,  _representative,_ that it might be indicative that I was correct," the young man mused, looking around. Erebus, though curious to find the man trusting a stranger with so much information, followed his gaze and found Irena stalking the perimeter of the archive, looking around corners with her staff held aloft and at the ready. "If only I could-"

Another warbling, the sound of static.

Eyes still fixed on one another, now in an unspoken alliance given their shared circumstances, Erebus and the man across from him fell silent, their ears straining to hear more.

 _There_ was _someone here._

Erebus' Force Sight surged as his curiosity mounted, and not only was the room laid out before him without obstacle but so was everything, and  _everyone,_ in it.

The man before him pulsed with life, like anything else might, and perhaps it was for lack of reference but the young man seemed…  _brighter_  somehow, though not quite as vibrant as someone strong with the Force. He tried to look for Irena, but then he saw it – someone  _else_.

A soft thrumming emanated from the darker corner of the archives, directly across from where Irena stood, watching but seeing nothing. Irena, he saw, was full of life, but her light was dimmer, duller. And the figure across from her? It shone like a distant star.

Perhaps not all the Jedi were gone after all.

 

* * *

 

_3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Hyperspace_

"I hope your stay here isn't  _too_  uncomfortable," Captain Maris uttered unsurely as he ushered Vale into a seat across from him in the  _Harbinger_ 's version of a dining room, which was really just a slightly nicer and smaller mess hall meant for the higher ranks.

"No worries, Captain," she smiled, already easing into the part, "I understand the situation completely. And the room is just fine."

Captain Maris smiled his usual uneven smile, or at least the only smile Vale knew the man to be capable of so far. His chief officer sat beside him, beaming in a way that told Vale smiling was none too common in the Republic navy.

"I'm only here on business, and since I missed the last transport I'm grateful for any assistance."

The words rolled off her tongue almost too naturally, though Vale was not a stranger to playing a part or answering to a name other than her own. She hoped her smile was more convincing than those of her present companions.

"Well, Miss Rissian, we're happy to have you aboard," Captain Maris concluded as a group of recruits brought their breakfast out on serving trays. "And as it turns out, you're not the only one. We picked up another diplomat who seems to have missed the same transport as you. A Republic officer, actually."

Vale feigned pleasant surprise, though suspicion took root in her chest.

"Always good to have allies," she said, laughing lightly, making sure the smile met her eyes in earnest. Picking at the food in front of her, Vale tried not to gorge herself on caf too eagerly, having spent most of the night awake, mulling things over and studying the fake profile Mission had given her. Not to mention, catching up on nine years' worth of news.

Hailing from the Anoat Sector, Vale was to be masquerading as Lan Rissian, a diplomat as well as a shareholder in a well-to-do local mining outfit throwing her support behind Queen Talia of Onderon. The crown was a loyal customer, and as a member of the company's board, Lan was repaying that loyalty with support in the form of credits.  _Lots_  of credits. Turns out, this was a mission already in-flux, but the original agent meant to head it was currently MIA. While Mission and Zaalbar would continue to help their Republic contact in finding out what happened to the original plant, Vale would go in their stead, killing two mynocks with one stone. At least for now.

"So, ever been to the Telos System?" Chief Officer Emet asked, dunking a triangle of mealbread into a purple yolk.

"Actually no, I haven't," Vale answered, comforted by the fact that both she and Lan shared that in common. "I figure the Citadel isn't much different than any other spaceport, I take it?"

"Not so much, no," Emet continued, wiping her chin gingerly, "But the restoration effort has put a bit of a damper on the-"

"I apologize for being late," a voice interrupted, and a presence appeared at Vale's side. A woman with wiry brown hair and a dark complexion took the seat beside her, her honey-brown eyes comforting as their gazes met.

"Rell Amara," the woman said, extending a hand as she settled into the empty spot at the table, "The time difference still has me a bit-"

"No worries," Captain Maris cut in as Vale tentatively took the woman's hand in greeting, "This is Rell Amara from Republic Intelligence. She's been reassigned to oversee the negotiations on Onderon as well."

"Popular destination," Vale joked, "I take it we'll be working together?"

The woman named Rell nodded and turned to the rest of them.

"I appreciate your quickness to come get us all the way out here. The  _Hyperion_  was supposed to remain docked until tomorrow, but some of its officers I hear were needed elsewhere."

Vale wondered just how much of this she had the clearance to hear, or whether this Rell knew that it didn't matter, somehow.

"Any word on who that might have been?" Emet asked, not keen to stop eating amid her questions.

"That's  _classified_."

A silence hung over them before Rell pointed a finger exaggeratedly and laughed. Looking to Maris and Emet, Vale took the cue that she was welcome to laugh along with them.

"I mean, it actually  _is_  classified, but nothing to worry about."

Another recruit – young, fresh-faced, and with lekku still not at full maturity – swept past them with another tray. Once the food was placed in front of her, Rell began to eat with relish.

"Helluva week," she began again, not looking up from her plate, "How have things been for you, Miss Rissian? The last-minute change didn't inconvenience you too much, I hope?"

"Oh no, not at all," Vale said, beginning to ease into her own eating etiquette. She was careful. As much as she wanted to get down to business like the officers before her, clearly used to eating as efficiently as possible and letting the conversation weave itself in, Vale remained composed and proper. She was a business woman, after all. "As long as things keep moving along."

"Agreed," Captain Maris raised his cup of caf, and Officer Emet did the same. Rell looked between them both, her eyes glittering, and joined in.

"Agreed," Vale smiled, also hoping so in earnest.

The rest of their conversation was casual at best, and if anything, Vale felt only mildly out of place. She remembered the nature of the talk, how military folk were used to conversing and how naturally it all still came back to her, but she kept her poise. Thankfully, none of the Republic officers asked her many questions, at least ones she couldn't answer off the cuff such as what kind of caf she preferred or if any moons could be seen from Bespin's gas cloud of an atmosphere (she guessed the answer was 'no').

When they gathered themselves up to leave, Captain Maris promised Vale that he was just a comm away should she need anything and that they were set to arrive on Telos within the next few standard days, asteroids permitting. Vale thanked him, only sticking behind to order one last cup of caf for the road, or perhaps to ask if they could provide a carafe for her room.

"Miss Rissian?"

Rell's voice came from over her shoulder just as Vale thanked one of the recruits on duty, confirming that she could take a thermasteel decanter back to her room.

"You can call me Lan," she said, testing the name even as she said it.  _Lan. Lan._ It was a lot like Lena, a name she had on Nal Hutta. Another identity outed, her dirty laundry out there for all the galaxy to see.

"Lan," Rell repeated, bringing Vale back to the present, "Could we- could we talk? About Onderon."

Before she could freeze up, before she could say no, the recruit reappeared at her side with the caf she asked for. She thanked him again, regained her composure, and turned back to Rell.

"Sure," she heard herself say, though she felt just the opposite. "Absolutely."

 

* * *

 

_3951 BBY, Telos IV, Citadel Station_

Atton wasn't used to being a passenger.

As a pilot himself, he couldn't help but internally mutter to no one in particular the entire way to Citadel Station. He couldn't help but grip the arms of his seat as the shuttle veered on both the takeoff and the landing, shaking his head to prevent his eyes from rolling all the way back into his skull as they finally docked. It took all his strength not to peer into the cockpit and spy the person flying the damn thing, if not just to give them a piece of his mind.

But he shouldn't complain, no. He  _couldn't_  complain. He needed to keep a low profile. Keep his head down and do the work until his debt was paid.

_One year down, four more to go._

Besides, it wasn't as if he expected Peragus' modest mining company to have a skilled pilot on hand. They couldn't afford it, or at least, didn't have to. This place liked to cut corners where possible. They knew their staff was made up of people who didn't want to be there but perhaps  _had_  to be, if only for the credits. The job paid well – labor laws saw to that. But anything in the way of comfort or luxury was a loss, so anything other than what was absolutely necessary was excluded for the sake of the budget. How else would they cover the hazard pay?

One of the few things the company  _did_  afford each employee was annual leave, usually one week's worth, though more depending on seniority or if there was a family to support on the other end of their check. It was the only time spent off-site, as per their contract. Atton had practically memorized it by now, often finding himself absently thumbing through the rules every other night, hoping there was something he missed, some loophole he could exploit. But he had taken this job willingly. It was an attractive prospect, given the pay, but the place was…  _lacking_  when it came to entertainment. Perhaps that was for the best.

Compared to what he was used to, Atton's eyes lit up at the sight of a cantina, its neon lights hailing his attention from across the shuttle bay. He had seen flashier and far more interesting places in his lifetime – or his short-lived smuggling career, even – but this would have to do.

Not only was this hole in the wall a potential refuge, it was also a means to an end. Atton had already done himself dirty and made a deal with someone unsavory on-site, promising to smuggle in stolen goods, because if he wasn't a smuggler than what good was he? If he could score some extra cash, he could get off the explosive rock that was the mining facility sooner than he'd planned, and could finally get back to – well, whatever it was he was doing. Either that or he could at least buy himself something nice to keep in his sorry excuse for a bunk.

"Atton Rand?" a Twi'lek asked at the shuttle gates, "From Peragus, I assume?"

He nodded, looking the young man up and down, trying not to get any bad ideas.

"That'd be me," he muttered, almost unsurely. Atton  _was_  who he was masquerading now as anyway, and still it felt odd to hear it sometimes, even though it had been a few years. As if someone was privy to a secret identity he didn't want known.

"If you'll just follow me," the young man smiled shyly. The head officer at the facility told him that someone would meet him here, that they would escort him to his abode for the week. Atton almost felt important.

The place was modest, though relatively stark, barren even, but he couldn't be surprised. He was pleased the company offered this much, given how horrid other outfits were from the stories he'd heard. Most were closer to a labor camp than whatever this was. Atton couldn't come up with a proper analogy, and so stood in his new, temporary apartment speechless, thankful there was at least a holoplant in the foyer _and_  the living room.  _Fancy_. The Twi'lek found this an opportune moment to leave, for the lack of conversation if not for the awkwardness.

"Prob'ly for the best anyway," Atton sighed, sinking into an almost ancient couch facing the far window, granting him a breathtaking vista of the backside of a restaurant.

_One year down, four more to go._

 

* * *

 

_3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Hyperspace_

"Looks like we'll be cruising for a while," Rell smiled at Vale as they rounded on her quarters.

Vale felt the ship jolt slightly, and slow. Outside the window of her appointed room, she saw that the streaked stars of hyperspace had vanished, the view outside marked by unmoving stars in their natural state of ever-present stillness. They were either saving fuel or they were on patrol. She heard that might be the case, and was assured it was nothing to worry about.

"Nice droid," Rell spoke again upon entering the small room, "Selling him for scraps?"

"Something like that," she muttered, tucking the remains of the HK droid that came to life in her shop, calling her  _Master_  what already felt like ages ago. "Caf?"

Rell's eyes widened as she nodded appreciatively.

" _Please_."

The woman was unusual, but not unpleasant. For an intelligence officer, she was oddly personable, and open. She joked readily, the ghost of a smile always clear on her face. Maybe the girl was just nervous.

"Long day, I take it," Vale said, pouring them each a cup and downing her first.

"Tell me about it," Rell agreed, taking her cup, hardly caring whether the liquid was too hot.

"So, you missed your transport as well?"

Rell swallowed the last dregs of her cup, just as eager for caffeine as Vale, and bit her lip.

"Okay, here's the thing," she started, hazarding a glance at Vale's closed quarter doors, lowering her voice, " _I_  didn't miss my transport, but my  _colleague_  did... I'm just taking his place."

Two Republic officers MIA. Not good.

Vale poured them both second glasses, intent on Rell's next words.

"I'm here to escort you to Telos, General Valen," she whispered, all mirth disappearing from her face, her stance straightening.

"An escort?" was all Vale could muster, "That's… certainly surprising."

"Surprising?"

"I guess… given the bounty,  _no_ , but I'm just-"  _Not used to this,_  she wanted to say, but the words couldn't make it passed her lips. "Surprised, is all."

"If it's the secrecy you're worried about,  _don't_ ," Rell assured her, "You were plenty convincing back there."

"But what about you?" Vale asked. "I thought  _no one_  was supposed to know."

"Well,  _yes,_  but I was sent by-" Rell stopped herself short, biting her lip again. "Sorry, I  _am_ a bit new to this."

"Me too, kid. No worries," Vale sighed, sinking into her couch as Rell lowered herself into the small kitchenette against the far wall facing her.

"I was the one who found your records," Rell admitted, examining the texture of the cup in her hands, "I was the one who brought them to-"

She stopped herself again.

"Nevermind, but listen – as I'm sure you know, the Republic has been looking for you. Revan's orders."

"Revan?"

Rell nodded, solemn. Mission failed to mention that, or perhaps she didn't know.

 _Revan_ , of course. Vale shivered. Things didn't feel any better, and the more Revan cropped up the more the ominous, lingering, bad feeling she felt on Tatooine mounted in her chest.  _Nothing's changed_ , she thought, suddenly feeling young and vulnerable again, prying Alek for answers and getting none.  _Just like Malachor._

"Since when did Revan-?"

"She doesn't have clearance to give orders, exactly-  _didn't_ , either." Rell answered before Vale could even finish her thought, "But I have it on good authority that the man in charge has been acting on instructions left by her. A failsafe of sorts. At least, somewhat."

"The… man in charge?" Vale raised a brow, though she couldn't say the mounting mystery wasn't more of a surprise.

Rell shook her head, almost laughing, "They really should have briefed me more thoroughly. I'm not sure we're there yet, but you'll meet him soon. He'll tell you everything."

 _There yet_  must mean they weren't yet ready to disclose that information, or at least Rell wasn't sure what was classified and what wasn't. She sounded an awful lot like Mission, clear on her orders but fuzzy on the details.

"Okay, okay, so what now? Do we just… wait? Arrive at Telos?" Vale asked, suddenly tense.

"Something like that," Rell replied, "Keep a low profile, play the part. Breakfast went just as planned, I don't think Maris or Emet will have a second thought about you or the mining company you're supposed to represent. We just… need to get to Telos."

" _Telos_ ," Vale mused, looking at the remains of her HK droid, the only thing left of her shop.

"Telos." Rell repeated.

"So, tell me something…" Vale suddenly stood again, looking at Rell in a new light. "What- what  _exactly_  did you find out about me?"

Rell blanched, her eyes widening.

"W-what?"

"Sorry, I mean to say-" Vale paused, looking for the right words, "I have reason to believe that the Jedi thought I was dead. How did they find me? Who's left?"

Rell appeared to choke on her caf, coughing into her cup as she asked "Dead?"

Vale watched her regain her composure. Rell was trying hard to remain professional, but everything told her she wasn't aware of this information.

"How much are the Jedi in contact with the Republic, exactly?" Vale pressed, hoping this was something Rell could answer.

"It's hard to say how many are left, but there  _are_  a few. Not all of them died at that conclave," Rell said after clearing her throat, "I know one keeps in contact with the man you're about to meet."

_The man in charge, huh?_

"His Jedi contact doesn't happen to be Master Atris, does it?"

Rell shook her head.

"No, I-I think she died. At Katarr."

 _Atris… dead?_  She could have sworn the only Jedi vindictive enough to even  _want_ to keep tabs on her would be Atris, but perhaps she was wrong. Vale searched her feelings, on instinct, but knew that the Force couldn't tell her anything. She shook her head.

"Bastila Shan?" Vale tried again, venturing another guess. Mission had mentioned her earlier and it seemed like a logical assumption.

Rell nodded into her cup, drawing another long sip.

"I think so," she affirmed. "Her name sounds familiar."

Rell drank the last dregs of her second cup of caf before looking at Vale again.

"I'm not sure if or why the Jedi thought you were dead, necessarily, but all I know is that they were looking for you. You fell off the radar and-"

Rell stopped short, her brows furrowing as she searched her memory.

"They were tracking you, I think. The Jedi, I mean," she continued, "Revan went looking for you and she-"

"Vanished," Vale finished.

Rell nodded, locking eyes with her, her expression solemn but serious.

"That's all I know."

According to the Jawa, Revan had been on Tatooine after she had gone looking for the Star Forge. Perhaps she had been looking for  _her_. But they had also mentioned a  _dark one_. She had originally thought the Jawa referred to Malak, but now? Maybe they were talking about the time she returned with Mission, with Bastila Shan. But perhaps there was another time, too.

Rell looked at the bottom of her cup sorrowfully, as if either hoping there was more caf or more detailed instructions as to what she could or couldn't say.

Rell's chrono watch blipped, drawing both Vale and Rell's attention to her wrist. Rell placed her cup gently on the kitchenette table as she read a message, reading across her display as she rose from her seat.

"A distress signal-" she started.

"A- a what?"

"It's a message from Captain Maris," Rell explained, looking up at Vale briefly before her eyes retreated to her wrist again, scanning the minute readout. "He doesn't know I'm escorting you, or who you are, but he is under orders to alert me if there's a change in plans. If-"

Rell paused again, reading and rereading the report as it scrolled over her chrono's screen.

"I guess I can't blame them for answering, but still-"

Rell rushed over to the small porthole of a window Vale's room allowed, peering out of the comically small oval.

"There- there it is," she said, almost unbelieving.

Vale rushed to her side, and Rell afforded her space to see, too.

In the star-filled barrenness beyond the  _Harbinger,_ two ships stood in stalemate in the distance.

"Looks like we won't get to Telos just yet."


	14. Search and Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A search team is sent aboard one of the mysterious ghost ships the Harbinger comes across in the Outer Rim Territories and the Nespis VIII Spaceport sees to more unexpected visitors than planned for.

_3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Outer Rim Territories_

"So? Anything?" Vale now clutched a cup of herbal tea, inclined to undo all the work the caf did earlier. She couldn't sit still, and even when Rell returned, she was still far too eager for any details the woman could divulge.

"The distress call seems to have come from the smaller ship," Rell answered, approaching Vale's window again, using it as if it were a tactical map. "The larger one is just… empty."

She looked back, making sure that Vale's door was closed, and lowered her voice.

"They ran the ship's ID, but nothing came up. I think they're still waiting to hear back from intelligence to see if there are any database hits."

Rell's voice was curious, contemplative, almost confused.

"What do you mean the other ship was empty?" Vale asked, matching the other woman's tone of voice.

"Captain Maris tried hailing them, first. Nothing. They pulled up their scanners to try and get a reading, fearing they may be hostile and… nothing. No life forms."

"Did the smaller ship respond?"

Rell shrugged, as if reconciling the facts with herself before saying them aloud.

"No response from that crew, either. There was the initial distress call, originating from the smaller vessel. It was basically a mayday, requesting backup in what must have been a firefight. But why a small ship would even think of taking on something of that size…?"

Rell trailed off.

"When Captain Maris hailed the smaller ship, we didn't get a new response, but the initial distress call played again, as if on a loop. Either that, or maybe it was programmed to repeat."

"Maybe whoever's on that ship can't communicate or… doesn't want to," Vale offered darkly.

Rell shook her head, but shrugged, considering it.

"You could be right but-"

Vale glanced at the two ships in the distance, one completely eclipsing the other. The smaller ship was just a cargo vessel whereas the larger one was either meant for combat or command. It was difficult to tell from a distance. Neither one moved. It was as if they had always been this way, as if they were simply just a fixture in space like a moon or a planet might be. A lone marker of something that happened long ago.

"So, what's the plan?" Vale finally asked, unsure.

"Well, there's the bad news and then there's the bad news."

"Spare me the bad news and get with the bad news first," Vale joked, though her tone was serious. Rell laughed lightly, but it didn't linger.

"They're waiting to hear back on the smaller ship's ID, but I don't know about the other. Not sure if they could get anything from it. They might send a probe out to get another look first."

Vale squinted, wondering herself. She'd traveled plenty in her time out in the Rim, but most vessels out here were a jumble of old and new, salvaged and modern, antique or otherwise. Something about it looked familiar, but the damn thing was too far away for her to get a good read.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Rell said, and Vale almost rolled her eyes.  _As if I hadn't heard that before_.

She retreated from the window, placed her empty cup on the table and began pacing the room as she played with the leather wristlet Asra gave her as a good luck charm. Well, sort of.

"Let me know what they say, if they say anything," Vale requested, "I'm sure whoever I'm supposed to meet will understand the circumstances, and it's not like I'm in a rush, but-"

Vale nibbled at her thumbnail, something she hadn't done since childhood, since Kavar still referred to her affectionately as  _young Padawan._

"All this waiting is making me nervous," she finished, eyeing the munitions pack tucked into the corner of her room. "But I assume everything will be-"

Rell's comm sounded again.

"Another message," she announced, her eyes already scanning the readout in miniature on her wrist.

"What's it say?"

"Whatever intelligence found, it must be big," Rell answered, "They're sending a boarding party and they're to retrieve the smaller vessel. Bring it back to Republic space."

Vale felt cold all of a sudden, but she didn't know why. She walked over the window and tried to get a better look at the scene again, but it remained unchanged. It was eerie, looking on the aftermath of a battle suspended in time.

"I'll see what else I can get out of them," Rell said, "Maybe even join this boarding party."

She sighed, and joined Vale by the window, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"I'll tell you what I can," she affirmed.

Vale looked at her, their gazes locking as they nodded at one another.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it," Rell smiled, though it wasn't enough to mask her uncertainty, "I have a feeling something's going on here, something's not right. I wanna find out what."

Rell patted her shoulder firmly as Vale nodded again before retreating out of the room and back to the bridge.

"Yeah," Vale muttered to herself, "You and me both."

* * *

 

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII, City Limits_

Brianna realized that she had never once been alone with one of her sisters. There were moments here and there, passing one another in the halls or sparring, but walking with Arianna side-by-side was different. Her sister's elbow was still threaded through hers, as if they were old friends. Something Brianna would never once consider likening any one of her sisters to.

But the approval was enough, at least for now. Perhaps it meant something. Maybe she was on the right track for once.

"What do you see, sister?" Arianna asked after a while, her voice flat and demanding, though still sanguine. Brianna eyed her, thinking she sounded a lot like Atris.

"A city bustling with life, crime, and Maker knows what else," she said, "A hive acting as one, even if all the moving parts are completely unaware of the others, wholly believing they act independently."

Thinking of Mistress, Brianna called on some of her most recent lessons on life and those living it. Atris had a lot to say about life as a whole, and wondered what she might think of this wretched gutter of a city.

Arianna smirked and nodded.

"Not bad, and not wholly untrue."

She didn't seem displeased, but it was clear there was something else Brianna was missing.

Closing her eyes as they walked along, she wracked her memory, breathing deep and digging even deeper.

For a moment, she could see the city, bustling with life, energy all around her. Everything stilled. All she saw was light, and a feeling that-

A sound erupted from Arianna's comm, stopping her in her tracks. Brianna faltered at her side, brought to a sudden stop.

Arianna brought the comm to her ear and enacted her headpiece, a small silver device affixed behind her ear. Brianna didn't have one, nor had she seen it before. Something new? She toyed with the looking glass device in her pocket, as if to soothe her confidence.

"What is it?" she asked her sister after a long moment.

Arianna's brows furrowed.

"There's something wrong at the temple, someone's there."

She loosed herself from Brianna's arm and put a hand to her belt where her blaster was holstered. Arianna looked to her sister and nodded, as if in question. Brianna nodded in kind and moved her dark cloak ever so slightly, just enough to reveal the collapsible vibrostaff hanging at her waist.

"Shall we?"

Arianna fell into stance, looking as if she were ready to pounce, and Brianna fell into step beside her. When they locked eyes, Arianna pointed in the direction they needed to go and Brianna nodded again, and they set off.

* * *

 

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII Spaceport, Jedi Academy_

Irena's comm sounded from across the room, and if it was indecipherable earlier it was even more of a mystery now. The sound was muted, but the tone was clear. Something wasn't right and Irena was on her guard.

Someone else is here.

"Did you get any of that?" the young man asked.

Erebus froze as Irena continued to stalk the archives, the man in front of him straining his ears, all the better for hearing. With his back to the archive, the young stranger couldn't see much. Erebus saw little with his own eyes as he pulled back from the Force, letting it go, his Force Sight dissolving instantly.

Erebus wasn't sure how to answer. He didn't want to give away that he was at all Force sensitive and wasn't sure if Irena had actually said anything at all in response to the coded message she just received. He was too busy tracking the other person he sensed in the room – the Jedi.

Jedi were easy to spot, as were Sith - if one were gifted with Force Sight, that is. The Force moved differently around different people, and its currents are more obvious around those who have a connection to it. Whoever roamed this room knew it well, their energy a near blinding white-blue, much like the archives themselves. But the color faded and the room grew darker as Erebus surveyed the space with his own nature-given eyesight and tried to act inconspicuous.

After a moment, he shook his head, hoping that he appeared to be as perplexed as the man before him, trying to get a better look or a sound for things as well.

Acting really isn't my forte.

The other man either didn't notice or didn't care, and did not press the matter further.

"Are Jedi contracts harder to acquire?" he asked in a hushed whisper, and Erebus was almost taken aback by the stranger's unending curiosity despite their circumstances.

"I'd say so," he responded, though it was more of a guess, "Why you so interested?"

At this, the edge in Erebus' voice rose, suspicious. The man blanched, all enthusiasm draining from his face.

"I didn't mean-" he stuttered, "No, never mind."

He shook his head, glancing back at the Echani. She was walking straight for them now, her expression none too happy.

"You two. With me," she barked as she approached, forcefully lifting the young man from his seat as she muttered into her comm.

"Excuse me?" the man protested, yanking his tied hands out of the woman's grip. "I don't know who you are, but with a simple call I can have the Republic here in a-"

"The Republic," Irena mocked, "If you were really affiliated, they would have been here by now."

The woman grabbed hold of the young stranger's arms again and looked to Erebus.

"Now, you-" she said, addressing him with eyes narrowed. "Ursa will-"

From the din of the archive, a rifle manifested from nothingness, its wielder appearing before their waking eyes. A high-grade security cloak dissolved and the man beneath it stepped forward, pressing the rifle into the side Irena's head. He smiled.

"I think we'll take it from here."

* * *

 

_3951 BBY, The Harbinger, Outer Rim Territories_

"Everyone ready?" Captain Maris asked, the apprehension clear on his face though his stance remained in form.

The crew nodded, and Rell joined them. With her gear on, she felt heavier, as if the weight of this mission wasn't already enough. She didn't like it. Everything felt wrong. Even General Valen's face back at her quarters haunted her now as they stood in the loading bay of the  _Harbinger_. The worry lining the woman's face made it clear that there was more going on here than any of them knew how to deal with, and no one on this search and rescue crew knew  _anything_  about it. Rell was on her own.

She tried to send word to the Jedi that Admiral Onasi had told her to keep in touch with before the party deployed, but Captain Maris wanted boots on the ground before she could wait for a reply. Rell breathed in deep and exhaled, watching the condensation accumulate on the inside of her helmet.

"May the For-" Captian Maris began, but he stopped himself before course correcting, shaking his head, "Good luck."

 _Old habits die hard,_  Rell thought, remembering when the phrase was common among Jedi and anyone else serving under them. Maris was a veteran, he must have said it a thousand times.  _Second nature, I guess._

The other crew members didn't flinch, each entering the shuttle with a curt nod at their captain before ducking their heads and taking a seat. There were nine of them, Rell the tenth and the last to enter the shuttle. She locked eyes with Captain Maris, looking into his cool blue eyes for an answer before entering the shuttle, only she didn't think he paid much attention to her. She kept forgetting that Maris knew she was a plant, but that he wasn't in on the entire plan.

_Here goes._

She took a seat and looked around, none of the other soldiers looking up from the floor besides her. This was routine, perhaps, or some kind of coping mechanism. No one knew what was going to happen next, or what might befall them. Rell had gone through basic training, at least enough to prepare for a situation like this, but given her station she was usually working in a team where they were allowed to talk and shoot the breeze. Here, it was quiet as a tomb.

No one moved as the shuttle doors closed and the vessel took off, and no one spoke the whole way there.

The trip was short. Rell didn't need much to occupy her thoughts, either. She watched the others, none of them watching her. She had read their files on the way to the Nespis VIII Spaceport and a bit of it stuck. Most of the crew here had been soldiers since the Mandalorian Wars, many over the age of 35 or 40. Rell was one of the younger ones, the only other soldier her age being a Zabrak named Ithiris. She was to be the leader of this expedition, her first venture into leadership. Rell watched for any wariness but saw none.

Ithiris glanced at Rell sidelong, feeling her gaze. Rell nodded, trying to act friendly, courteous and professional, but kept her face neutral. Soldiers didn't smile. Ithiris nodded and turned to the window.

As they came upon the larger vessel, Rell saw it now, the distinguishing marks.

The color was perhaps the most prominent - a dulled bronze made darker with years of carbon scoring. There was no doubt in Rell's mind that these scars were left from long before the ship had encountered the other vessel in apparent orbit. These were older battle scars.

Like those around her, this ship had seen war, and one war in the particular.

This was a Star Forge vessel.

A shiver ran along Rell's spine.

Perhaps the monolith had been here since then, caught in a stalemate or some other unseen circumstance. Either way, they would soon find out.

The shuttle scuttled up alongside the beast of a ship, locking with one of its outer ports. The other soldiers stirred, readying themselves. Rell watched them and followed suit, gripping her rifle as she looked to Ithiris, as if the Zabrak's behavior might dictate hers. Rell was the outsider here, she needed to blend in, and for some reason she was drawn to the only other soldier close in age.

The others knew she was an intelligence officer, but it was still suspicious that she'd come along. Even without her aboard, they would report their findings to the higher ups, it wasn't as if any of this was a secret. Rell tried to act nonchalant, let her shoulders relax as her hands did the work, holding her blaster rifle at the ready – after all, she was only following orders as the rest of them.

The first soldier to approach the shuttle door stood beside it, ushering the rest of their crew members through, Rell included. She watched him as he watched her, nodding as she ducked under the frame again, only this time coming out on the other side of a ship she never thought she'd see.

The place was pristine, if not decaying slowly. There was no sign of a struggle, and the main engine seemed to be working fine. The lights were lit as if the ship expected to be operating with a full crew, though none were present. Rell could not help but eye some of the access panels as they passed in single file, admiring the alien buttons, switches, and other features. She had heard about the ancient and unfamiliar technology Revan had unearthed in the Unknown Regions, but had heard of it only. This was her first time  _seeing_  it. Tempted to stop and admire it, take notes if she could, Rell looked to Ithiris again as a guide, watching her movements and mimicking them as best she could.

They were silent as they snaked through the halls, finally stopping once they reached a common area large enough to house them all side-by-side. Ithiris stood before them, her arm raised to indicate that they all stop and heed her orders.

"This seems to be a main causeway," she said looking about, twin blasters aloft, "Break into teams of two and take a branch."

The Iridonian took her index and middle fingers, indicating groups as she raked the remaining crew members and pointed towards one of the many halls for them to tackle. Rell was the last one standing.

"You, with me."

Ithiris nodded and each pair broke off, disappearing into the din.

"Intelligence officer, eh? Big guy keeping an eye on us small folk?" she asked the moment she and Rell were alone.

"Something like that, though my main mission is on Onderon."

" _Ah_ ," Ithiris answered, understanding, "Escorting that diplomat, I take it?"

Rell nodded.

"Mess out there," the Iridonian continued, referring to Onderon, no doubt, "As for  _this_  mess-"

The two of them rounded a corner and happened upon a store room. Racks and empty canisters lined the walls, undoubtedly once full of equipment – now eerily empty.

"I'm guessing this was once an armory," Rell offered, entering the space and nudging an empty plasteel cylinder with the neck of her rifle.

Ithiris examined a row of target dummies, lifting her visor briefly for a better look.

"Doesn't look too old, though," she continued, "The scoring on this is fresh."

Across the room, Ithiris tested a few empty suits of armor, each one dark and foreign looking. They fell over easily, empty.

"Something's not right here," Rell said again, "Where is everyone?"

When she first stepped aboard, Rell hoped it was a ghost ship. She almost hoped to find bodies, lifeless and still. But instead there was… nothing. And it was the absence of answers that unsettled her most.

"This is certainly strange," Ithiris agreed. "Ever been on one of these before?"

Rell turned to her, trying to read the woman's expression through the clear visor of her helmet.

"A Star Forge ship, I mean?" she clarified.

Rell shook her head.

"I was on one once, at the end of the war," Ithiris continued, "I was probably too young to be admitted, but the Republic was desperate. We orbited Malachor, but we pulled out before the big blast."

Rell watched her as she walked the perimeter of the room, approaching a console and finding it dead.  _Malachor._  General Valen had been there, she was the one who led the assault. Would any of these soldiers remember her? How many had known her personally and how many only knew her by her orders alone? There were plenty of soldiers who knew nothing of what Revan looked like, but Revan also had the convenience of her infamous mask. Eden was a young Jedi, not unlike Bastila during the Civil War, and there were plenty who remembered  _her_. Rell swallowed hard and hoped Admiral Onasi knew what he was doing.

"Strange," the Zabrak muttered, pressing the console keys more forcefully and… nothing.

"Why would the equipment be gone?" Rell asked after a moment. "Why would everything be down? The engine's running, the lights are on."

Ithiris locked eyes with her, wondering.

"Good question."

Her gaze narrowed and she exited back into the hall, looking right and left with her blaster first before making any moves.

Ithiris raised her hand and motioned that they move left, further down the hall. Rell glanced back at the causeway they gathered in earlier, hearing the distant muttering of other soldiers.

"Anyone find anything yet?" Ithiris muttered into her comm as she continued on.

A string of  _negative_ 's poured through her device, each voice warbled slightly by static.

Ithiris stopped as she came upon the next door in the hall, pressing her hand to the access panel and finding that it didn't work. She looked around, checking the coast was clear, and holstered her weapon as she drew a security tunneler from a pocket on her right leg. Rell kept her blaster at the ready as the door was unjammed. After a moment, it clanked open, revealing another room. Only it wasn't completely empty.

" _Maker,_ " Ithiris muttered, rushing in.

Rell's blood ran quick and hot at her words. She looked back and forth down the corridor again before edging her way into the room. Inside, Ithiris was kneeling on the ground, a man hardly breathing at her feet.

At least, he  _looked_ like a man. Sort of.

" _Call the captain_."

* * *

 

_3951 BBY Nespis VIII, City Limits_

"Okay, we've waited long enough. So, what's next?" Asra implored, hands on her hips before a flustered Mission and Zaalbar. The two looked to one another and Mission shrugged.

"I'm not sure yet, we're still waiting for word."

"Word from  _who_?" Darek asked in his usual soothing tone.

" _You know_   _who_ ," Mission answered curtly, still angry that she wasn't sure what she  _could_  or  _couldn't_  say. She glanced at Big Z. He grumbled comfortingly under his breath as a clawed hand reached for her elbow. She placed a hand on his for a moment, in silent thanks, before getting up and pacing the room.

"I'm about as tired of this as all of  _you_  are," she said, trying not to let the edge in her voice take over. "Trust me, this isn't usually how things go."

"What is it you guys do, exactly?" the girl named Glitch asked, and Mission wondered if this was the first time she spoke. She shook her mop of black hair, long enough to cover her face but not long enough to reach her collarbone, and Mission saw that both of her eyes were replaced with cybernetics, a glint of metal shining through her dark locks.

Zaalbar answered in Shyriiwook and Mission translated.

"We're cargo runners, mostly," she said, looking at him appreciatively, "Though lately we've been asked to help recover Jedi artifacts."

"Funny coincidence," Asra said, and though her words were tinged with her usual sarcasm Mission knew she meant no harm by it.

"Tell me about it," Mission huffed in agreement.

"Is that why you were asked to fetch Vale?" Asra continued.

Mission nodded. "We're usually known for our safe transport, but with our ship destroyed-"

"There's no knowing who could track us," Zaalbar finished.

"Our ship had this cloaking device that belonged to the Jedi on Coruscant, a  _gift_ from a friend of ours. Came in handy when we had  _objects of import_ ," Mission mocked Bastila's turn-of-phrase despite those present not knowing who she was, "We might be able to get it installed on another ship of ours, but, who knows."

"So that's why General Valen had to go undercover," Orex said, piecing it together.

"Something like that," Mission answered, " _Listen_ , I wish I could say more but-"

An uncharacteristically pleasant bleeping interrupted her. Mission spun around, looking for the source of the sound. Asra walked to the console on the hostel wall, realizing the origin before she did, and answered.

"…Yes?"

"There's someone here to see you," the woman at the front desk answered coolly.

Asra looked to Mission, wide-eyed, gesturing vaguely, unsure of what to do. Mission  _tsked_  and walked the length of the room.

"And who might that be?" she asked into the receiver.

"Nothing but a Fool's Errand," the woman said, sounding as if dictating something written.  _Fool's Errand_. Mission wracked her memory, but it didn't take long for her to remember the mop of messy hair and the dark brown eyes beneath them. She smiled to herself.  _It's been a while, friend._

"I'll be right down."

Mission swallowed her grin and turned to the others, looking at Big Z in particular.

"Looks like an old friend's come to visit," she said, "What would you say if I told you your General Valen wasn't the first ex-Jedi I'd ever met?"

Mission went alone, confident she would be safe on her own. Despite the fond memories that bubbled into her brain at the thought of their visitor, she knew something was up. Somehow, everything was connected, and maybe he was just the person they had been waiting to hear from. Mission inhaled, suddenly finding herself nervous once she reached the bottom of the stairs. She paused, closing her eyes and steadying her breath, before exhaling and squaring her shoulders as she rounded the corner into the hostel's main foyer. It didn't take her long to scan the sprawling ground floor of the mid-level establishment to find him. Sure enough, sitting in one of the rec halls of the Nespis hostel sat a man Mission hadn't seen in almost ten years.

"Fool's Errand is about right," she said, entering the room, waiting for his eyes to fall on her, and when they did he smiled wide.

"Is it rude to say that it's weird to see you off Taris?" Zayne Carrick greeted, walking towards Mission and sweeping her up in a hug. He was taller now, shoulders broader. His messy hair was tamed somewhat, if not slightly shorter, and he sported a few scars Mission didn't remember seeing when they'd first met. "I still think of you when I think of-"

Zayne couldn't complete his thought, suddenly at a loss for words. He had lost Taris when Malak destroyed it as well, Mission realized, remembering that he studied there as a Jedi student. Even when he said the word,  _Taris_ , his voice was strained despite the smile on his face. They relaxed their grip on one another, but remained at arm's length.

"It's good to see you," was all she could muster, thinking of the Undercity, thinking of  _home._ She sighed. 

"How did you-?"  _find me_ , she didn't have time to say, for Zayne cut her off before she could finish.

"I'll have to explain later. I'm afraid I need your help."

"Help?"

"A friend of mine is missing. Well,  _sort of-"_

 _"_ Missing, how?"

"Well, I guess he isn't exactly missing just, I don't know - in  _trouble_ ," Zayne inhaled, watching for Mission's reaction. "He's here, on Space City. I was told  _you_  were the person to ask."

Mission shook her head, already thinking of all the things Carth would owe her for once she saw him again.  _That old stickler._

" _Good to see you too,_ " she joked, finally pulling away.

Zayne smiled at her, and though he was older he hadn't changed much. Mission couldn't help but feel her cheeks grow warm.  _Frack_ , she thought.  _Have I really not changed that much?_

" _Okay_ , okay, so where's your friend, exactly?" Mission resigned in her usual sing-song. "Who's in trouble now?"

"A Republic Scout," Zayne said, looking serious, "Goes by the name of Mical."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a mess to upload so please let me know if you notice anything wonky or out of place. It's also getting more difficult to keep track of all the running threads too so any comments are most welcome! As usual, thanks so much to everyone who's read and commented so far :)


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